Magic Lessons
by we're-all-stories17
Summary: Hogwarts AU. Dean doesn't like his new home, his new school, his new so-called friends; and to top it all off, he's failing Transfiguration. It sucks.Until, that is, his tutoring takes a turn for the unexpected...
1. Chapter 1

It's hard, transferring to a new school; even harder when you're trying to adjust to a new country at the same time, as he was finding out. England was…well, _different_. The weather, the money, the language, the food—everything, it seemed, was strange and new here.

Dean hated it.

_Why_ they'd had to leave America in the first place he _still_ didn't understand—they'd lived perfectly happily in Lawrence for his entire life. And, okay, he got that his mom being offered this new job at Oxford was kind of a big deal; but considering Dean didn't make friends easily, tearing him away from the ones he _had_ managed to come by seemed pretty unfair. All the more so because he'd only had one year left of school, anyways. Couldn't his parents just have waited—left him behind—_something?_

Sam didn't help matters, either. Certainly he tried to be sympathetic, but his younger brother was both more social and more intelligent than he was, and never seemed to have trouble fitting in. Even coming in at Hogwarts, where most kids had known each other since first year, Sam was already well-liked among both his fellow students and his teachers. As proud as he was of his younger brother, Dean couldn't help feeling more than a twinge of resentment that Sam was suffering so much less than he was.

It wasn't all bad, of course; there was Quidditch, now that he'd successfully earned a place on the team—and there were the girls. That was one area where Dean could definitely gloat over Sam, who invariably turned into a tongue-tied, blushing mess whenever confronted with a girl he had any sort of romantic feelings towards. Dean's good looks got him halfway, and then all it took was a bit of smooth talking—for a while, anyways. He didn't have any illusions about any of his relationships. It was the one thing that hadn't changed from back home. Girls would date him for a while, because he was attractive and had the whole jock thing going, but inside he knew he would never, ever be "the one" for any of them. He seemed born to play the role of the first boyfriend, the prom date (if they even had prom here, which he was beginning to doubt), anything that could be looked back on fondly but distantly one day by the girl and whoever she'd eventually ended up with. At this age, however, when most relationships didn't last particularly long anyways, all it meant was a constant source of variety.

So, he was popular—but the only person he was actually close with was his brother, and Sam had his own friends to hang out with. Well, it could be worse, he supposed. Besides, all he had to do was suffer through one year, and then he'd be out of there. He could go wherever he wanted after that; back to America, probably, since it wasn't like he'd have any particular relationships tying him to England. Aside from his family, but hell—uncle Bobby back in the States was practically a second father.

The group he was with, mostly made up of his teammates and their girlfriends and boyfriends and a few of _their_ friends, started laughing, so he faked a grin as well and tried to pretend he'd been listening to the joke. "I mean, does anyone _actually_ like him, besides his sister?" Bela asked. Shooting a glance at Dean to see if he noticed, she ran her fingers through her hair; apparently she wanted him today, then. They'd been on and off ever since the beginning of the year, one minute all over each other and the next in such mutual hatred they could hardly bear to be in the same room. The last breakup had been a few weeks earlier, over something so stupid he'd already forgotten it. Seeing the way Bela was looking at him Lisa, the girl he was currently going with, put an arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder possessively.

He had no idea who they were talking about, so he just shrugged noncommittally and hoped someone else would say something. Here Gordon stepped in, saying, "Tell me about it—he just _reads_ all the time!"

"Not even normal books, either—all this weird Muggle stuff," Bela said disdainfully. Dean was suddenly glad he'd never mentioned to her the fact that his mother was both a Muggle and a literature professor.

"And he's been here since first year, but I don't think I've ever seen anyone _talk_ to him, except that freaky sister of his—"

"Oh, don't even pretend, Gordon," said Bela, rolling her eyes. "You've been trying to get into Anna's pants for, like, three years. You're just mad because she keeps rejecting you."

"Whatever!" Gordon shoved her so that she conveniently fell onto Dean's lap, where Lisa helped her hurriedly back up.

A cruel smile played across Bela's face, and she pulled out her wand, saying, "Watch this, it'll be hilarious…" After surreptitiously checking to make sure Dean was watching, she muttered a spell under her breath.

The target of the spell was a slim boy with dark messy hair in a Ravenclaw uniform, its blue matched by his bright eyes. Though the hall was crowded he was obviously alone, staring down as if not wanting to make eye contact with anyone as he made his way down the corridor. Bela's well-aimed spell caught the books he had clutched tight to his chest and caused them to tumble to the ground in a mess of papers. He looked around half-heartedly to see who was responsible, as if he were used to such treatment and acted more from instinct than out of an actual desire to find out who'd done it, and crouched resignedly to start picking his things up again. Although it caused an obvious roadblock as the same number of people attempted to get through a smaller space without slipping on anything, no one stopped to help him.

Bela and Gordon high-fived, and rest of the group laughed. Lisa, Dean noted, was one of the few who didn't, looking as if she didn't find anything particularly funny about the whole thing, but she remained silent. He felt a surge of gratitude for someone sharing his sentiments, and thought vaguely that he'd be sorry when they inevitably broke up. She was nice. Especially contrasted with Bela, who he'd probably end up going back to once Lisa realized they weren't right for each other.

Anxious to move the subject away from the blue-eyed boy before something more serious happened, Dean pretended he'd forgotten the updated Quidditch schedule and asked Gordon when their next practice was. This prompted a confident discussion of how Gryffindor would undoubtedly slaughter Slytherin in the upcoming match, and soon Bela's victim seemed all but forgotten.

The bell rang to signal the end of class, and Dean hurried to join the mad rush of students racing to be the first to the Great Hall. Before he was out the door, however, Professor Crowley's voice rang out, "A word, please, Mr. Winchester!"

Heart sinking, Dean slunk back to the Transfiguration teacher's desk. The paper he'd received back that class, crumpled into a ball in the bottom of his bag as if by hiding the dismal mark he could make it go way entirely, seemed to weigh his arm down far more than a few mere sheets of parchment ought to. "Yes, sir?" he asked, meeting the man's eyes briefly before deciding it best to focus his gaze on the floor.

"I hardly think I need remind you, Mr. Winchester, of your frankly _abysmal _report on human transfiguration, or, indeed, of your total failure to complete the assigned task during the lesson."

"No, sir."

"If this were an isolated incident, I might be willing to overlook it. However, ever since the beginning of the year you have consistently failed to meet the expectations of the course. While I realize you may be having some trouble adjusting"—though the words here seemed designed to be sympathetic, his sarcastic tone implied the exact opposite—"this is simply unacceptable for a N.E.W.T. level student."

"Yes, sir," said Dean glumly. Yet another instance where his brother would have managed to one-up him, if he'd been in the same situation; Sam was practically a genius, already in the top five of all his classes, whereas Dean was struggling just to scrape passes in most of his.

"If you intend on passing this course, I suggest you seek help outside of class time. I, of course, would be happy to assist," he offered grudgingly, obviously hoping Dean didn't take him up on the offer, "or you could seek another student to tutor you."

"I'll do that, then, sir," said Dean, who didn't particularly want to do either. He figured maybe he could just get Bela to give him a few tips—because even though she might have a certain tendency towards bitchiness, she was both hot and rather intelligent, when she bothered to try—just enough so that he didn't fail completely.

However, it seemed Professor Crowley had other ideas. "Fine. I'll see if Castiel Novak can spare any time for you. Come see me after your last class tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Spotting a familiar floppy-brown-haired head sticking up above the rest of the crush of students milling around the entrance to the Great Hall, Dean tried to shove his way through with a few muttered apologies and called, "Sam! Hey, Sam!"

His brother turned, looking for the source of his name until he saw Dean making his way towards him. "Oh, hey, Dean. What's up?"

Dean hesitated to tell him about how he was failing Transfiguration, since he wasn't too sure he wanted to embarrass himself in front of Sam's friends; then again, what did it matter what a bunch of third-year Ravenclaws thought of him? They'd probably heard every terrible detail there was to know from Sam already. So he shrugged and said, "Just found out I'm failing Crowley's class. How about you?"

"Dean…" Sam sighed. He glanced uncomfortably at his friends, obviously not wanting to make a scene in front of them. Andy caught the look and seemed to take the hint, clapping him on the back and smiling a polite "goodbye" to Dean before telling Sam they'd save him a spot.

"I know, I know," said Dean once they were gone, not particularly caring to hear the "you're not stupid" lecture again from his thirteen-year-old brother. "Look, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about, though—do you know a guy named Castiel Novak?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Castiel? Yeah, sure. He's in my house. You must have a class with him."

"Dude, we've been here, like, five minutes. I can barely remember all my teachers' names." A bit of an exaggeration, but more or less accurate—aside from his group of questionable friends, a handful of attractive girls, and some of the more outspoken seventh-years, Dean hardly knew anyone at Hogwarts. "So, what's he like?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Nice, I guess. I don't really talk to him," he said. Then, seeming to feel this apparent negligence required further justification, he added, "He's really shy. Smart, though."

"Huh." Great. The guy sounded totally boring. As if Dean's life wasn't bad enough already.

"Why the interest?"

"Oh…he's supposed to tutor me, or something," said Dean vaguely, beginning to devise ways he could get out of it.

"That's great!" Sam exclaimed enthusiastically. Apparently he thought that this had been Dean's idea, that he was finally taking control of his academic career; Dean didn't have the heart to disillusion him.

A girl in Hufflepuff black-and-yellow walked past, her curly blonde hair spilling prettily over her shoulders, and if she hadn't been markedly younger than him Dean would have checked her out thoroughly. As it turned out, though, his attention wouldn't have mattered anyways, because her bright smile was aimed at his brother as she said timidly, "Hi, Sam."

Dean watched in amusement as Sam's face turned bright red and he stammered, "H-hi…Jess…"

"Smooth, Sammy," said Dean, clapping him on the back as the girl continued on to the Hufflepuff table with one last backward glance.

They were at it again, next day at lunch; laughing and whispering behind their hands, voices too low to be overheard but pointed glances in the direction of the blue-eyed boy seated alone with a book making it obvious what the topic of their conversation was. Dean took one look at the group and said to Lisa, with whom he had entered the Great Hall, "Actually, I'm not really hungry."

She looked surprised—as with most teenage boys, food was usually a top priority for Dean. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked in concern.

"Yeah, fine. Look, just go on without me—I've got some…stuff…to do, anyways." He was aware, even as he said it, of how guilty it sounded; hardly fair, considering that for once he hadn't done anything to feel guilty about. Trying to cover it with a grin, he added, "I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Sure?" she asked. Unsurprisingly, the original concern now seemed tinged with suspicion. He'd been here enough times before to acknowledge gloomily that it probably marked the beginning of the end for their relationship. That just seemed to be how it worked with him: once a girl was comfortable enough to start feeling misgivings, more and more started going wrong.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it." Forcing a smile, he gave her a small wave as he turned to leave. "I'll see you in Potions."

By the end of the day, Dean had both entirely botched his Draught of Living Death and failed to come up with an excuse to get out of Crowley's instructed tutoring. With a sense of gloomy resignation, he made his way up the stairs to the Transfiguration room. This whole idea would just end up being a massive waste of time for everyone involved, he knew it; even if, by some miracle, this Castiel guy managed to improve his Transfiguration skills, there were still all his other classes to consider. He'd already come to terms with the fact that making something out of his life wasn't really an option.

Still, he knocked on the door to Crowley's office and slouched inside when his professor's voice said, "Come in." For several moments he simply stood awkwardly in front of Crowley's desk as Crowley stared intently down at a stack of papers he was grading, without so much as acknowledging Dean's presence. Then, finally, he spared a glance for his student before his eyes flicked back to the papers. "Ah, Mr. Winchester. So glad you could make it. You'll be happy to hear Mr. Novak has agreed to tutor you twice a week—starting today. You're to meet him in the library in"—he checked his watch—"well, five minutes ago. Better hurry."

And with that, Dean was dismissed. Cursing his teacher under his breath, he ran through the castle to the library to arrive ten minutes later than the scheduled time. It was only when he paused, panting, in the doorway to the library, did he realize that he didn't actually know whom he was supposed to be meeting. Castiel Novak, sure—but who the hell _was_ that, exactly? There were at least a dozen students who had taken up residence at one of the library's many tables already, and all he knew about the guy was that he was a seventh-year Ravenclaw. He looked around anxiously, shifting his weight in discomfort, as he tried to locate a suitable candidate.

As his eyes scanned the room he noticed someone staring back: the blue-eyed boy he'd last seen buried in a book at lunch. He was, once again, seated by himself; books and notes were spread neatly around him, but he didn't appear to be using them yet, as if he were waiting for some—oh, _no._ No, it couldn't be—it was a mistake, or a coincidence, or _something—_

The boy gave a small, hesitant wave, upon making eye contact. It was him, alright. This was Castiel Novak. He was going to be tutored by his friends' favourite target for petty bullying.

_Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

With his already bad mood worsened, Dean slouched down in his seat across from Castiel and hoped fervently that no one would see them together. "Hey," he said grudgingly.

"Hi," said Castiel. After that first moment of both staring at each other he had looked away, and now seemed determined not to meet Dean's eyes again. As well, even from that single word Dean gathered he was quite soft-spoken, and brought to mind what Sam had said about him being shy.

To Dean's relief he didn't try to socialize at all, just leapt right into things with, "So, um, what are you having problems with?"

"Everything." Maybe if Castiel realized how impossible the task ahead of him was, he'd just give up.

The boy risked a glance up at Dean, probably to see if he were joking. "Um, okay. I guess we should start at the beginning, then."

And they did. Not just the beginning of the year—Castiel went back practically to the beginning of _fifth_ year, working on theories and concepts that had featured on the American equivalent of the O.W.L.'s when Dean was fifteen. Finding him to have a fairly thorough understanding of fifth-year content, they quickly moved on to sixth-year, where Dean began struggling noticeably. For some reason, even though he had a loose grasp on the material, he was having trouble concentrating; it seemed to have something to do with the fact that Castiel had come to stand behind him, so close Dean could feel the heat from his body warming the air between them. He wondered in annoyance if anyone had every explained the concept of personal space to the guy.

The odd distracted sensation lasted for the remainder of the evening, even after he had left Castiel in the library to go have dinner. He was even more withdrawn than usual, prompting a mild argument between himself and Lisa when she got tired of repeating everything she said to him. At least if they'd had Quidditch practice he could have worked off some energy, tired himself out too much to think; as it was, he stayed up long after everyone else had gone to bed struggling with a difficult Charms paper he'd put off too long, and eventually fell asleep right where he sat.

"Did you do the reading?"

"Yeah."

"_Really?_"

"There's no need to sound so surprised," Dean muttered; though he had to admit Castiel's doubt was hardly unfounded. He hadn't been planning on doing it, actually, and still wasn't completely sure why he'd taken the time, when all his other homework went neglected as usual. Maybe it had to do with what Sam had said—Castiel _was_ smart, he'd been able to tell that much from their first session, and—well, something in him wanted to impress the other boy. Make him proud. He supposed it was just out of a desire to prove Americans weren't stupid, though his younger brother had breaking that particular stereotype well underhand.

"Um, sorry. I mean, I'm not surprised," Castiel corrected himself hurriedly. As usual when faced with an interaction that wasn't one-hundred-percent related to the subject he ducked his head to stare down at the book open in front of him, cheeks slightly pink. Dean raised an eyebrow: he by no means considered himself to be an extrovert, but this guy was something else—he could hardly even have a conversation without blushing. Hell, he could hardly even have a conversation, period.

Then again, maybe it wasn't just shyness. Castiel undoubtedly knew the kind of people Dean hung around with—the same people who picked relentlessly on him on a daily basis. No wonder he was nervous. Dean felt slightly sick. A little notoriety could be a good thing, yeah, but he'd never wanted anything like this, especially from a guy he barely knew.

"Well, it kind of seems like you are, actually," said Dean, crossing his arms and pushing the unpleasant thought to the back of his mind. His friends didn't know he was here, and it wasn't like he and Castiel were suddenly going to become best friends or anything. This was strictly school-related—he just had to get Castiel to relax around him enough that he could help Dean pass the course.

Castiel shrugged, obviously wishing he hadn't said anything. "It's just, um… you're not stupid. It kind of seems like you're just doing badly because you don't do your homework or anything. So I figured, um…well, why would you do this, then?"

Their eyes met again across the table. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever really appreciated just how _blue_ the other boy's eyes were, the way they caught the light in the bright library…

"Whatever," he said abruptly, trying to shake himself out of it. "Let's get started."

It was an unfortunate tendency of Dean's to get fidgety when forced to sit still for too long—and after being in class all day, one that inevitably acted up. He drummed his fingers absently on the desk, only stopping when he caught the slightly hurt look Castiel shot them, who apparently took it as a message Dean was bored; then, instead and again without noticing, he began jigging his leg under the table. When he noticed that this, too, was causing some disturbance by shaking the desk slightly, he made a resolute effort to cease the action. Adjusting his position, he stretched his legs out under the table, until his foot hit the leg of the other boy's chair.

Except that it moved slightly, and Castiel jerked a little in surprise, because it was _his_ foot Dean's was now resting against. Slightly embarrassed, he wondered whether he ought to move; but when he waited a minute without Castiel making any move to do so, he let it stay. What did it matter, anyway? They were hardly touching—under the table, too, so it wasn't like anyone would notice. Not that there _was_ anything to notice. Because then Castiel would have moved. Either way, they sat like that for the remainder of their time together; somehow, Dean found his restlessness curbed. By the time the people around them were leaving for dinner, he actually felt he was beginning to understand last year's material.

"Um, so I guess I'll see you on Tuesday, then," said Castiel.

"Yeah, sure." A whole weekend away, if he was counting—which, of course, he _wasn't._

"But I thought, um, maybe we could do some practical stuff—um, I mean like spells, not—um—anyways, Crowley said we could use his room, if that's alright with you."

"Okay," said Dean, mildly bemused. He wasn't certain exactly what Castiel had felt the need to clarify there, and as usual the boy was diligently avoiding looking at him by busying himself with tidying away his books.

Catching sight of a worn hardback novel tucked in with everything else, Dean saw his chance to show Castiel he wasn't like his friends. He didn't know why it mattered to him so much, but the thought that his tutor might actually be a little afraid of him based on the actions of the people he hung around with made him cringe. Before Castiel had a chance to stop him he reached over and deftly grabbed the book out of the pile.

"Don't—" Castiel started, trying unsuccessfully to take it back.

"You like reading?" After a quick glance at the cover—_Bleak House_—Dean flipped through a couple of pages.

Castiel's face flushed scarlet, but he answered, "Yes," in a tone of nervous defiance. Although he looked as if he'd like to, he made no move to grab it again.

"Dickens—my mom teaches this stuff." He didn't feel at all self-conscious telling Castiel this, probably because the chances of him mocking Dean for it were low enough so as to be more or less nonexistent.

"Really?" Castiel asked, looking for the second time that day extremely surprised.

"Yeah, she does a class on Victorian lit."

"So you're not…?"

"Pureblood?" Dean supplied. "Nah. Muggle-born. She's a prof at Oxford. You?"

"Both my parents are magical."

Although Dean wasn't by nature a big reader, preferring to be outside and moving around while his more bookish brother spent his time in dusty libraries, being raised by an English lit PhD meant that a certain amount of familiarity with famous books and authors was inevitable. Wracking his brains for something he'd read that might match his estimation of Castiel's caliber of novel, he asked, "Ever read any Conrad?" Not the best choice, considering he'd had no idea what the hell was happening in _Heart of Darkness_ until his mother explained it to him, but it was the first thing he could think of off the top of his head.

It hardly mattered, because Castiel shook his head anyways. "My parents don't think I should spend so much time reading Muggle books, so I only get whatever my brother finds to send me."

Not fair at all, in Dean's opinion, and more than a little bizarre. He'd never met anyone who actually _discouraged_ their kids from literacy. "That's bull. My parents would be _thrilled_ if I showed _half_ as much interest in books and learning and stuff," he said. Realizing he was still holding _Bleak House_, he handed it back; Castiel, however, seemed far less anxious to reclaim it than he had initially. In fact, he looked—well, still a little surprised that Dean was bothering to socialize with him voluntarily, but…_happy,_ almost. And Dean understood it completely. From what he'd heard from Gordon and Bela and everyone else, Castiel's only real friend was his sister. Castiel had Anna, Dean had Sam; except Dean had only had to deal with it for two months, and even if he wasn't close to anyone besides his brother he was generally accepted among his fellow students. Castiel had been feeling the isolation for seven damn _years_, maybe even longer, and putting up with relentless teasing and bullying on top of that. No wonder he spent all his time reading.

He felt Castiel's foot move slightly under the table, momentarily pressing more firmly against his own before moving away entirely, and found himself suddenly tongue-tied as his mind blanked on what to say next. Time to leave, then, before he did something stupid. "Uh, so I guess I'll see you on Tuesday," he said, pushing his chair hurriedly back to stand.

"Right," said Castiel, and Dean lost sight of his eyes as he looked away to continue putting his books away.

"Thanks," said Dean awkwardly, gesturing at the table vaguely in case his meaning wasn't clear. "For…yeah. Have a good weekend."

And with that he grabbed his own bag and left, unsure why he abruptly felt the need to hurry as he left Castiel sitting once again alone at the desk.

Crowley was, thankfully, not present on Tuesday when Dean went to meet Castiel in the empty classroom. After ensuring they were alone—because even though he was beginning to sympathize more and more with his new tutor and growing more disenchanted with his other group of friends, he didn't particular want to lose all the status he'd managed to gain in his time at Hogwarts—he reached into his bag, saying, "Hey, I brought you something."

Castiel's face lit up as Dean handed him a battered bind-up of three Joseph Conrad novellas. "Thanks!" he exclaimed, eagerly skimming the back of the book, and Dean couldn't help grinning at his excitement. "Wow, this is—you didn't have to, I didn't want to make it—"

"Don't worry about it." Dean waved away the protest. "Once was enough for me, so I figured it might as well get passed on to someone who'll actually use it."

He thought it was the first real smile he'd seen from Castiel all year.


	4. Chapter 4

Even though they had a few classes together, by mutual consensus Dean and Castiel seemed to pretend they didn't know each other during the day. At least, that was what Dean liked to think, even though he knew that in reality it was mostly because of him. Castiel didn't have a reputation to uphold, so to speak; if anything, being friends with Dean would have improved his situation. It was Dean who worried what his friends would say if they saw him hanging around the quiet, smart kid, especially after hearing their unrestrained opinions of him. So Castiel sat at the front of class, answering questions quietly but brilliantly whenever he was called on; and Dean sat at the back with his friends, pretending not to pay attention.

More and more, though, Dean found himself thinking about Castiel—Cas, as he'd started calling him in the safety of his own head. Looking out for books to lend him, doing as much extra reading as he could in an attempt to impress him, counting down the minutes of his last class on the days they met. Thinking about the way he bit his lip when he was concentrating, or how sometimes he'd cover a smile with his hand when Dean did something stupid while his eyes crinkled with laughter. But Dean pushed those thoughts away whenever he realized he was thinking them, and told himself he just liked having someone he could be himself around. He wasn't ready to deal with anything else.

And then, inevitably, he and Lisa split up; and in the same day he got back an assignment he'd written for Potions only to find he'd failed; Bela had been whispering to Gordon behind his back after he'd snapped at her for something he barely remembered; and now he just _couldn't do_ the stupid _spell_ Castiel was trying to teach him.

He kicked a desk in the empty Transfiguration classroom, throwing his wand down angrily, and exclaimed, "_I can't do this!_"

"Yes, you can," said Cas, startled by his outburst. "You've managed everything we've done so far. It just takes time—um, are you okay?"

Mortified at the prickling he could feel behind his eyes Dean turned abruptly away. "Forget it."

"You might as well talk, you know, It's not like I'm going to tell anyone."

Ordinarily Dean wouldn't have shared, but those words—that promise—were more than he could resist. Even with Sam there were things he never said, because Sam was his younger brother and there were just some things you _couldn't_ say to a younger brother, if you were Dean, anyways. Now, though…Cas didn't know his family, wouldn't have spread it around the school even if he had anyone to tell; and he could relate to Cas, perhaps more than to anyone else.

"I'm just…I failed another assignment," he said, because it was the easiest to explain, "and I just feel like—I don't know. Like, what's the point? I'm never gonna be good at any of this stuff, so why bother? And we're supposed to graduate this year, but I can't _do_ anything useful, and I'm just going to get stuck in some dumb job I can't stand—and Lisa broke it off, which _always_ happens no matter _who_ the girl is, so it's not like I'll have a family or anything either—"

At some point during the past few moments Cas had moved closer to Dean, so that when Dean turned around he was only a few feet away. He didn't clap Dean on the back and tell him to man up, or hug him like a girl might; he didn't try to touch him at all, just looked at him. It didn't do Dean's already agitated state of mind any good when he caught himself half wishing for physical contact.

"That's not true," said Cas, and Dean was momentarily caught off guard by the force with which he said it. "I don't know what happened to make you like this, but I think half your problem is you don't have _any_ confidence. You don't think you can do anything, so you don't even try. If you just put a little effort in, you'd be brilliant."

Dean just stared at him, too surprised to say anything. It had been a long time since anyone showed this much faith in him—his parents had, at one point, as had Sam, but he'd given up so long ago they seemed to have grown to almost expect failure where he was concerned.

"And you know what, yeah, your girlfriends are going to leave you, because listen to how you talk about them. They're all the same in your head. So why would a girl want to stay with a guy who doesn't _really_ feel anything for her? And that's not your fault—you can't _make_ yourself fall in love. Maybe"—his eyes seemed to be trying to tell Dean something here, something he couldn't say with words—"maybe you just haven't met the right person yet."

Dean found his gaze being drawn away from Cas's eyes somehow and down to the boy's full lips, parted slightly to reveal a sliver of white teeth. Their faces were quite close together now; in fact, a few more inches, and…

"Give it to me," said Cas.

"_What?"_

"Your Potions assignment. Let me look at it."

"Oh—right. Yeah, sure," said Dean, slightly dazed. _Obviously_ that was what Cas had meant. He pulled back—he hadn't even noticed he was leaning forward—and dug the crumpled paper out of his bag, where he'd shoved it in frustration before any of his friends could see his mark.

Cas scanned it briefly, then nodded. "Why don't you practice that spell we've been working on for next time, and I'll go over this with you now?"

"Dude, you don't have to," Dean protested. Although he'd be the first to admit he needed help, Cas had just signed up to try and patch up his Transfiguration. Come to think of it, why had he even agreed to that in the first place? Maybe Crowley was giving him extra credit, because they certainly hadn't been friends. Or maybe he just hadn't had anything better to do.

"I don't mind."

So they spent the rest of the afternoon going over Dean's essay together, sitting a little closer than usual to be able to read it properly. Later, after Dean had traded an enthusiastic Cas his copy of _Tom Sawyer_ for the just-finished _Frankenstein_ and left to eat dinner with his friends, he realized Cas hadn't said a single "_um"_ since Dean confessed his problems.


	5. Chapter 5

After hanging back to talk to Jo, the pretty but tough captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, following practice one evening, Dean started back across the grounds to the castle later than everyone else. Gordon and Bela had gone on ahead, which Dean was secretly thankful for; he had begun to find spending time with them practically intolerable, resenting all their snide, vicious insults—especially when, as was too often the case, they were directed at Cas.

Brooding silently over this, he let his feet carry him absently over the grass with his broom slung comfortably over his shoulder, hardly noticing where he was going. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, in fact, that he nearly collided with the person hurrying towards the castle from the direction of the lake. "Oh, sorry, I didn't—" he began, until he saw who it was. "_Cas_?"

The boy was soaking wet and shivering violently in the bitter December air. His face, pale from coldness, still managed to muster a fierce blush as he backed away. "Um, I've g-g-got to, um…" he muttered through chattering teeth.

Dean grabbed his arm before he could turn to leave and demanded, "Dude, what happened to you?" Up close, he could see Cas's bottom lip was split and bleeding, and one eye was already beginning to show signs of bruising. "Did you get in a fight?" he asked incredulously.

"N-no, I j-just…" Cas was embarrassed, Dean realized. Whatever had happened—and, remembering with a sinking feeling that Gordon and Bela would have passed by him about ten minutes earlier, he found himself able to make a fairly educated guess—he didn't want Dean seeing him like this.

Well, fuck that. Cas had not only listened to Dean bitch about his problems, he'd given him the best advice Dean had heard in a long time—not to mention the countless hours of tutoring. Dean figured it was about time to try and repay the favour. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said, pulling the reluctant Cas along beside him.

He probably should have taken him to the hospital wing; but if Cas were embarrassed to have Dean see him, he'd hardly be anxious to deal with teachers and staff. Instead he led Cas to a broom cupboard on the second floor, closing the door behind them so that they wouldn't be disturbed. "First things first—we need to get you out of those clothes before you get hypothermia or whatever," he instructed. He turned his back to give Castiel some privacy, simultaneously shrugging out of his cloak so that Cas would have something to wear; but his treacherous eyes couldn't help trying to sneak a peek. In the end, this turned out to be a good thing, because Cas's fingers were shaking so much he couldn't even manage to get the buttons on his shirt undone.

"Here, let me," said Dean, brushing Cas's hand gently out of the way. To distract from the things the sight and feel of the other boy's bare chest were doing to him, he asked again, "So, are you going to tell me what happened?"

"I…f-fell," Cas mumbled, staring determinedly down at the stone floor.

Dean raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. "Right. And the ground punched you in the eyes, busted your lip"—his hand grazed the side of Castiel's chest, and he caught the wince of pain Cas didn't quite manage to stifle in time—"and bruised your ribs—before dunking you in the lake."

Castiel said nothing, just shrunk into the robe Dean handed him, gratefully pulling it tight around his body.

Dean tried again. "Okay, well, why were you out there to start with?" A few muttered spells produced a clean cloth and a bucket of warm water, and he began to carefully dab at Cas's injured mouth.

His eyes flicked to Dean's face momentarily, as if wondering how he'd react, before he returned his gaze to the ground. "I was…we were watching you practice."

"Really?" asked Dean, surprised but secretly rather pleased. He made an effort to keep his face blank of any expression—after all, Cas probably hadn't even been watching _him._ It had to do with some project, no doubt, or—"Hang on, who's _we?"_

"Me and my sister. Anna."

"Is she okay? I mean, she didn't—"

Giving a weak laugh, Cas shook his head. "She left before me, or none of this would have happened. Anna doesn't _get_ beaten up."

His voice cracked on the last few words, and he looked intently up at the ceiling of the broom cupboard in a manner Dean knew all too well: Cas was trying not to cry. Because it wasn't just a bad day, a one-time shoving around whose memory would have faded by this time next week; this had happened over and over, both more and less severely, and even worse than the pain was the humiliation, which was why he hadn't wanted Dean to see him—and the only friend he had in the entire damn school was his sister. Gordon and Bela and all the others might not be the ones who had singled him out to harass in the first place, but they were certainly doing a good job of keeping the trend going. And for what? What made Castiel so different from everyone else that they felt the need to pick on him so relentlessly?

Nothing, that Dean could see, besides perhaps a good deal more humanity than any of his other _friends_ possessed. Cas may have been shy, and awkward, and a little socially incompetent, and kind of geeky, but it was beginning to dawn on Dean that aside from Sam Cas was the only person he actually _liked_ spending time with here, the only one he felt remotely comfortable around. Hell, he spent every minute he was with Gordon, or Bela, or Lisa, or _whoever_ thinking about Cas—not that he'd admit that to _anyone_, even Cas himself. _Especially_ Cas himself.

Hesitantly, unsure how Cas would react, he wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders. When Cas didn't push him away, he pulled him closer so that Cas's head rested in the hollow between his own shoulder and neck. He tried not to notice the way the peaks of soft, dark hair felt against his skin.

With a muffled sob, Cas buried his face in the sweater Dean still wore. The fingers of one hand clutched the grey wool in a tight fist, as if scared he would leave and unwilling to allow that to happen—which was, frankly, more than okay with Dean.

He lost track of how long they stayed like that, Cas's crying slowly becoming less violent until they were simply sitting together in silence. Though he knew it had to happen at some point, when Cas finally raised his head from Dean's chest Dean couldn't help feeling a surge of regret at the loss. Wordlessly he handed Cas the cloth he'd been using earlier to dry his tear-stained face.

"Thanks," he murmured, still not pulling away from Dean's hold.

A bell could be heard tolling the hour; if they weren't back in their own common rooms soon, they'd both be in trouble. Reluctantly, Dean removed his arm and dragged himself back to reality; he located his wand to start drying out Cas's discarded clothes so that he'd have something to wear back to his dormitory. The process as done by Dean was inefficient at best, but at least Cas could change as soon as he got back.

"You gonna be okay?" Dean asked when they were standing in the hall, preparing to head down the different routes to their rooms.

"Yeah. Fine. I'm not usually—it was just—"

"I know," said Dean. "You don't have to say anything."

He smiled, and Cas smiled back gratefully; and then they left for their common rooms without saying another word.

Despite the late hour Gordon, Bela, Jo, and several other older students were still occupying the common room. Dean had made up his mind to go straight up to bed, because even if Gordon wasn't the one responsible for messing around with Cas earlier that evening the last thing he felt like was dealing him or anyone like him; however, when he stepped through the portrait hole to hear Gordon loudly recounting the story to general laughter, without giving himself a chance to think about it he changed his mind.

"…and he didn't even say anything, so as soon as he had his back turned I just _shoved _him, and—" Noting Dean's arrival, he grinned and broke off to say, "Hey, mate, you missed the _funniest_ thing—"

Dean punched him in the face.

Gordon staggered back, partly from the force of the blow and partly from shock. "What the hell, Dean!" he exclaimed angrily. "What the fuck was _that_ for?"

"You fucking _asshole_!" Dean snarled. He shoved Gordon, who stumbled over the corner of a table but managed to regain his balance in time to deflect Dean's next blow. The group who had been listening so attentively to Gordon was now watching the pair silently; Bela, perched on the arm of a chair close by, had a smile playing across her features in obvious amusement at the scene before her.

He was too angry to think straight, and found himself unable to form a coherent sentence explaining what the matter was. His aggression, however, was impossible to misinterpret, and when he didn't show any signs of laying off Gordon began to retaliate, throwing punches just as ferociously. His fist caught Dean on the side of the head, and Dean stumbled dizzily, grabbing Gordon's cloak both to keep himself upright and to shove Gordon once more—

But suddenly a pair of hands was pushing between the two, separating them despite their dogged attempts to get at each other, and Jo was shouting, "_Cut it out!_" She glared at both; having been sitting at the opposite side of the room, doing her homework, she'd missed most of the scene. "What the _hell_ is going on?" she demanded furiously.

"He just came at me!" Gordon looked to his friends for backup, who exchanged glances before nodding vigorously. "I just said _hi—_and he hit me in the face!"

Jo regarded Dean in astonishment. Hardly unjustified, as usually Dean had no temper so to speak—not that he hadn't gotten angry over the past three and a half months, because he certainly had; he'd just never acted on it before. While a part of Dean was rather incredulous as well, mostly he was still fuming internally.

"Well? What do you have to say?" she demanded of Dean. The edge on her voice had softened slightly—that was something he'd always liked about her. She might have been tough, but she was fair.

Dean didn't know what to say. How could he explain what had just happened? No one even knew he was friends with Cas. It wouldn't make sense. Not that he would have expected any of them to understand anyways, because he hardly understood what was happening to him himself. So, hands still clenched into fists and breathing heavily, he growled, "Forget it," and stormed off to his dorm. Gordon came up a while later, but Dean pretended to be asleep already; and the next morning, he made sure to head down to breakfast before anyone else in his dormitory was even awake.


	6. Chapter 6

Since sitting with his old friends was obviously out of the question, Dean spent his morning classes with Ash, a fellow Gryffindor. He didn't know him especially well, and they didn't end up talking much, but that was fine; Ash was easily the most laid-back person Dean had ever met.

He had resigned himself to eating lunch alone—he didn't particularly want company, anyways. Before he had even gotten into the Great Hall, however, he heard someone calling his name.

It was Sam, standing by the door waving a sandwich at him. "Want to have lunch?" he asked.

Shrugging indifferently, Dean followed his brother outside to the front courtyard. Yesterday he would have said it was too cold to be eating out of doors; today he was just relieved to get a little space from the loud press of students inside.

"I hear you smacked Gordon one yesterday," said Sam, handing him the sandwich.

"Dude, how do you even know that?"

"My friend's brother's friend knows someone who—"

"Okay, okay, forget I asked."

Sam waited a moment, obviously expecting Dean to continue. When he showed no signs of breaking the silence, Sam prompted, "So did you?"

"Yeah." Dean didn't really feel like offering an explanation. He took a bite and hoped Sam would drop the subject.

No such luck. "Any particular reason, or…?"

"He's an asshole."

"Oh." Sam gave him a sideways glance, and appeared to think better of pursing the subject. "Well, I never liked him anyways."

"Good."

They sat quietly for a while, watching the winter's first flakes of snow begin to dust the ground with white. Dean considered telling Sam about Cas, then abandoned the idea almost immediately, since he didn't really know what to tell. Maybe talking about it would help him work it out—but he'd never been much of a talker. It seemed a little late to be starting now. Just the facts of what had happened, then? Even in his head, though, the words sounded a little—well, almost like—

"Castiel said you're getting loads better with Transfiguration," said Sam, who had apparently gained the ability to perform Legilimency since the last time Dean saw him.

Dean choked on his sandwich. "You talk to Castiel?" He made an effort to sound casual.

"Sometimes, yeah. He's nice, once you get him talking—_him_ I like." Dean felt an inexplicable surge of relief at this, though he had no idea why it mattered whether Sam liked Cas or not.

Shooting his brother another furtive look, Sam was the one trying to sound casual this time as he asked, "Hey, uh…are you guys, like…?"

"Like what?" Dean demanded. "Are we like what?"

"Uh…you know what, never mind." Sam checked his watch and added, "I better go get my stuff for Herbology. See you later."

Dean watched him leave, suspecting he knew _exactly_ what Sam had been trying to ask and wondering bemusedly why the mere suggestion had made his stomach knot up with nerves.


	7. Chapter 7

They didn't talk about it, when he next saw Cas—just sat down as usual and started going over the theory they'd covered in class that day. As if nothing had happened. After, Dean lent Cas a copy of _Brave New World_ and asked how he'd liked Dante's _Divine Comedy_, which Cas said he'd liked very much and he wished he knew Italian so he could read the original; and once they'd talked about it for a bit Dean gathered his books up and said he'd see Cas later; and he left.

It went the same way the next several times they saw each other, which had been adjusted to three times a week when Dean had asked Cas if he could help him with his Potions, too. On the surface, nothing had changed—but Dean started getting a feeling of nervous excitement right before they met, and while they were together he found himself distracted more and more frequently by Castiel himself. Wondering what he was thinking, noticing the way he'd cover his mouth to hide a smile when Dean said something stupid, looking forward to the way Castiel's face would light up when he saw Dean step through the door of the library.

He couldn't help thinking of something Sam had said once. For some reason, his brother had been looking up words in other languages that were untranslatable in English—even thinking about it now, he wanted to roll his eyes at Sam's geekiness—and enthusiastically sharing what he thought were the more interesting ones with Dean. _Jayus_, Indonesian for a joke so poorly told and so unfunny you couldn't help laughing; _tartle_, Scottish for the act of hesitating while introducing someone because you've forgotten their name; Iktsuarpok, Inuit for going outside to check if anyone's coming.

Mamihlapinatapai—a look shared by two people, each wishing the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin.

Cas had been right when he said girls were all the same to Dean, and now Dean knew why. He'd been wrong, though, when he said Dean just hadn't met the right person yet; Dean had met _exactly_ the right person. He just didn't know what to do about it.

Then the date for the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas was posted, and Dean made a decision.

He found Cas sitting outside, on a bench that had been kept clear of snow by the overhang from the roof. He was reading _Slaughterhouse Five_, and jumped in surprise when Dean came to sit next to him. "Aren't you cold?" Dean asked, watching Castiel's expression turn from bewilderment at being shaken out of his book to _that_ smile, the one where Dean had to make an effort not to grin idiotically back.

"I hadn't noticed," Cas said sheepishly. He slid a bookmark in the pages of _Slaughterhouse Five_ to mark his spot before setting it on the bench beside him—a subtle gesture, but one that Dean noted hopefully, since it seemed to indicate Cas wanted to spend time with him. Or didn't mind, at least.

"Well, I kind of think you're crazy, but suit yourself." Dean made an effort to unclench his hands, the palms of which were now marked with deep grooves from his nails digging into them in expectation of what he'd come here to do. "So, uh, I guess Hogsmeade's next weekend."

The sudden change of subject appeared to have thrown Cas off slightly, but he nodded politely.

"You going?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't usually, though." There was a brief pause before adding tentatively, "Are you?"

It was all the encouragement Dean needed. Taking a deep breath and hoping fervently that Cas couldn't hear how hard his heart was pounding, he said, "Actually, I was thinking maybe we could go. Like—y'know…together."

He stared ahead at the fluffy white snowflakes drifting down to add to the not insignificant coat of snow already covering the ground, too nervous to watch Castiel's reaction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cas turn to look at him, though he couldn't see his face clearly enough to tell what he was thinking. "You mean like a…" Cas cut himself off abruptly. "Never mind."

"Like a what?"

"Forget it…"

"Come on, Cas," Dean said, catching himself a few seconds too late. He'd never called Castiel that to his face before, just inside his own head. Well, the damage was done now, however Cas decided to take it. Risking a glance, he felt his heart leap—Cas was biting his lip, looking as if he hardly dared to believe what was happening. "What were you going to say?"

"Like a, um…date?" Cas mumbled, so quietly Dean could hardly make it out. Though it was harder to discern with the flush brought to his cheeks by the cold, Cas still seemed to be going furiously red as he stared awkwardly down at his feet.

This time, Dean found himself unable to stop a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah," he said. "Exactly like a date." Cas's head jerked up, and he looked at Dean incredulously, meeting the grin with a hesitant smile of his own. "So is that a yes, or…?"

He nodded, apparently overcome by a sudden shyness but looking happier than Dean had ever seen him before. Dean, too, found he didn't really know what to say; so he just rose to his feet and said awkwardly, "Well, I guess I'll see you on Saturday, then."

As he walked back towards the castle, he couldn't help glancing over his shoulder once more. Cas hadn't even bothered to pick up his book again, but was watching the snow fall with the same giddy expression of delight that Dean felt sure was mirrored on his own face.

Though his old friends hadn't spoken to him since the night he hit Gordon—partly due to his own deliberate avoidance of them—he hardly noticed the loss. Instead he'd taken to spending more time with his brother, lingering longer in the library with Cas after their tutoring sessions, even working on his homework. Now, sitting by himself in the library surrounded by a small mountain of Potions books after returning to the castle, he struggled with a difficult piece of homework, not helped at all by the fact that his mind kept wandering to a certain blue-eyed boy out in the snow.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone come to stand in front of his desk. Assuming they were simply stopping to get a book from one of the nearby shelves he ignored them, frowning down at his page pensively before scribbling another sentence. His writing was awkward and messy: he still hadn't gotten used to the quills that everyone in the British wizarding world liked to use, preferring the regular Muggle pencils that his American school had given to its students. Far more functional, in his opinion, and—

They were still standing there. He paused in his work to look up and saw a red-haired girl in a Ravenclaw uniform, arms crossed over her chest in accordance with the borderline hostile expression on her face. Quite pretty, really, but kind of intimidating—like any person with whom she happened to come into contact was one wrong word away from getting their ass kicked. Before he could even open his mouth to ask if she wanted something, she said, "I hear you asked Castiel out."

He stared at her. "Uh…what…uh…no offense, but who are you?" he managed eventually.

"His sister. Duh," she said, rolling her eyes. "Like anyone else at this bloody school gives a damn about him."

"_You're_ Anna?" He didn't know what he'd been picturing—a female Cas, probably. Same eyes, same hair, same tendency to blush whenever required to speak. Definitely not, well, _this_; though he realized twins didn't always match in appearance or personality, these two seemed to be pushing that concept to its limits.

"Yeah. Got a problem?"

"No, no," he said hurriedly. "You guys just look really different."

At this she cracked a smile and said, "We get that _all_ the time. Whenever we go places together, people always think we're a couple, not twins." Her eyes narrowed as she returned to her original line of inquiry. "And speaking of dating, you never answered my question."

"It wasn't really a question."

"You know what I mean."

"Uh, not really," said Dean honestly. Obviously Cas had already told her about it, so he wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to say—confirm it? Did she think Cas was making it up, or something?

Placing her hands on his desk, she leaned forward threateningly to hiss, "Listen, _Winchester_, I've seen the kind of people you hang around with, and if this is some kind of joke—"

"It's not," Dean snapped. "And Gordon and I aren't exactly on speaking terms anymore, if that's who you're talking about."

"Good."

"Although you don't exactly seem any better, considering you came in here assuming I'm an asshole."

Her eyebrows shot up, apparently taken aback. "Are you calling me judgmental? Because yeah, that's exactly what I am—or, as I prefer to call it, _cautious_. I think you would be, too, if you'd watched your brother get picked on constantly for seven bloody years."

He could imagine it all too easily, in fact. Sam hadn't exactly fit in right off the bat when he started school back home—for nearly two months he'd clung to Dean possessively, terrified of the kids who ragged on him for being so different, before he'd managed to find friends who not only didn't care but welcomed his uniqueness. "Yeah, well, that's going to stop."

"Really? And you're going to stop it, are you?"

"Yeah."

Grinning reluctantly, she straightened up, admitting, "You know, you're almost living up to all the hype."

"Hype?"

She rolled her eyes again, but this time it appeared to be more a gesture of exasperation than frustration. "Yeah—Cas talks about you _all_ the time. It drives me mad." Though he made an effort to hide it, he was pretty sure Anna caught the look that crossed his face at this unexpected piece of news. "Well…you seem okay, I guess." She turned to leave, pausing momentarily to flash a friendly smile and add, "But if you're just messing around with him, I will fuck your shit up, Winchester."

He believed her.


	8. Chapter 8

Cas was waiting uncertainly by the doors to the Entrance Hall, successfully making himself as unobtrusive as possible—Dean nearly walked right past him. "Hey," he said, sincerely hoping Cas hadn't seen the stupid double-take he'd just done. "You ready to go?"

Despite the fact that they'd become friends since their first meeting, both seemed struck by a sudden bout of self-consciousness that caused the first few minutes of the walk down to Hogsmeade to pass in silence. Dean, wracking his apparently empty brains for something to say, eventually came up with, "So, I guess you're in charge here—I've never been off the grounds."

"Didn't you go in autumn? October, or whenever it was?"

"Nah. Detention," Dean said, grinning ruefully.

"Figures…" Cas laughed, and it seemed to break the spell—for the rest of the short journey, conversation seemed to come easily.

Though Cas admitted he didn't go very often himself—Dean didn't press, mysteriously able to predict the answer had something to do with Gordon and Bela—he knew his way around enough to show Dean the highlights. While Dean stared in amazement at the European candy ("sweets", Cas called them) in Honeyduke's, different from what he was used to back home, Cas seemed more enthralled by Dean's reaction than anything going on around them. It was the same everywhere they went, until they reached the bookshop, where even Dean couldn't hold Cas's attention over the shelves of books.

"Magical painting? I didn't know you were into art, Cas," Dean joked, peering at the cover of the book he was currently holding. "Unless you count those, ah, _interesting_ little diagrams you draw when you're explaining stuff—I mean, those stick people are pretty damn inspired—"

"Very funny." Cas elbowed him playfully. "_Actually_ I was going to get it for Anna. You know, for Christmas. She's into all that—what's the matter?" His expression turned worried, confronted with Dean's of absolute horror. "Is everything okay?"

"No!" Dean exclaimed. How the _hell_ had this happened? He was never huge on advanced planning, but this was pushing things even for him. "_Shit!"_

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"_Christmas!_ I _totally_ forgot! Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_"

The combination of his raised tone and choice of language was drawing attention from the people around, including the clerk behind the till. As he frowned, leaving his position to make his way towards them with a clear intent in mind, Cas set the book he'd been holding hurriedly down and grabbed Dean's hand to pull him out of the store, laughing. Back in the snowy street Cas seemed to realize what he'd done and immediately tried to let go, but Dean tightened his grip.

"I met your sister the other day," said Dean suddenly, just having remembered.

Cas looked alarmed. "What? Really?"

"Yeah, she came to see me in the library."

"What did she, um…I mean, did she…"

"Tell me if I was just screwing around with you she'd kick my head in? Basically, yeah. I'm kind of scared to meet the rest of your family, to be honest…"

Mortified, Cas covered his face with his free hand and said, "Oh my God, I can't believe she actually did that! I'm so sorry, she just—"

"Dude, I get it." Dean grinned and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "She's your twin, and I'm the sketchy new kid. I just thought it was funny. And a little scary." Nudging Cas with his shoulder, he added slyly, "She also said you liked to talk about me…_all the time_ were her words, I think."

"I—um—that's not—" Cas met Dean's teasing gaze and scowled. "Shut up."

They were over by the Shrieking Shack now, off the busy town streets. Though popular with newcomers to Hogsmeade, there were only so many times one could go and stare at an abandoned old building, especially when there was Christmas shopping to be done; the place was deserted. Dean listened to Cas explain what seemed to be everything there was to know about the site, but soon found his attention distracted by flush in Cas's cheeks from the cold, the snowflakes sparkling on his eyelashes…or those resting momentarily on his lips before melting away…

Cas trailed off, noticing the way Dean was looking at him. He bit his lip nervously, and Dean realized he'd probably never done this before, ever. "Um, are you, um, cold? We could, um, go, um, back…there's a place…where, um…it's in town…if you wanted a, um, a drink or something—"

"Cas," said Dean, leaning a little closer. "Stop talking." And he kissed him.


	9. Chapter 9

"What do you think this is? Lime?" Dean asked, scrutinizing the jellybean he'd just picked out of the box. Bertie Botte's Every-Flavour Beans—something else they didn't have back home. He'd bought a box out of curiosity back at Honeyduke's, disregarding Cas's warnings, and they had decided to endure cold fingers on the walk back to the castle in order to eat them.

"Maybe," said Cas dubiously. "Could be cucumber…"

Dean popped it in his mouth, and Cas laughed as he grimaced in disgust. "Not lime?"

"I don't even know what it is. It's—like, _grass_, or something. Ugh." He turned his attention to the purple jellybean Cas had selected, hazarding a guess—"Grape?"

Wrinkling his nose, Cas shook his head and said, "Eggplant."

"Okay, _seriously_—who came up with these? Like, in what _possible_ way is eating them a positive experience?"

"And yet you're still eating them," Cas pointed out dryly.

"Well, I keep hoping I'll get a normal one, but they're all—" Dean broke off suddenly, smile fading into a scowl as he saw who was waiting for them at the doors to the castle.

"I guess I'll, um, see you later, then," said Cas glumly.

"Yeah—wait, what? Where are you going?" Dean grabbed his arm to pull him back. If Cas was scared—which Dean would have more than understood, given what he'd had to put up with in the past—they'd be far safer together.

Cas shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders in discomfort. "Um, thanks for coming with me, and—and everything…" When Dean still refused to let go and demanded to know what the hell he was talking about, Cas explained in a tone so matter-of-fact it made Dean cringe at what the guy had become accustomed to, "Look, I'm not stupid. They're going to give me hell no matter what—you don't have to take it, too. Just…go on. I'll be fine."

"Uh, no you won't—unless you _wanted_ to go for another swim in the lake." Hating the way Cas shrugged again, as if it had happened so many times before that once more wouldn't really make a difference, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to think of a way to convince him. "Damnit, Cas, I…like you, okay? I mean, I _really_ like you. In case you didn't get that. I'm not just doing this to pay you back for keeping me from failing all my classes or whatever. So I'm not gonna go pretend to laugh along with Bela while Gordon's beating the shit out of you again, and then sneak around behind their backs about being with you. Who cares what they think? They can go fuck themselves. If that means you—okay, and Sam—are gonna be my only friends, fine. I tried the whole "being cool" thing, and guess what, all the "cool" people are assholes. Why are you smiling?"

"Sorry," said Cas. "But I think that's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."

Dean couldn't help cracking a smile. Hand trembling slightly, because despite his words he wasn't quite as confident as he wanted to sound, he cupped Castiel's chin and kissed him again, knowing full well they were in clear view of the crowd by the doors. "Ready?" he murmured, leaning his forehead against Cas's until the other boy nodded. Together, they made their way across the courtyard.

Even knowing what he did about their treatment of Cas, he half expected to simply be ignored; after all, he'd spent the first couple months of his time at Hogwarts with them. That had to count for something, didn't it? A sort of uneasy truce, perhaps—not outright acceptance, just leaving well enough alone.

No such luck, it seemed. "Oi, Winchester!" Gordon called, louder than necessary considering their proximity. Knowing what he was doing, Dean gritted his teeth; Gordon wanted to make this as public as possible. He made to push past, but Gordon blocked him, saying with an attitude of mock hurt, "Where're you off to in such a hurry? Don't you have a minute for your old mates?"

"No," Dean snapped. "Get out of our way."

"So are you two _together_ now, or what?" Bela drawled.

Dean thrust out his chin defiantly and said, "Yeah, we are."

"Aren't us girls good enough for you anymore?"

"Not ones like you, no," he shot back, itching to wipe the stupid pout off her face.

"Ouch, Dean. I'm wounded. Used to be you couldn't get enough of me, remember? Remember the time you snuck into the girls' changing rooms after Quidditch practice, and…well, I'm sure you do. I was _extra_ careful to make sure you would." She ran a hand down his chest to emphasize this, seeming to note with pleasure the way the muscle in his jaw twitched in anger, before turning to make a show of looking Castiel up and down disparagingly. "Your standards certainly do seem to have dropped, that's all I can say."

Before Dean could respond Gordon cut in, arguing, "Hang on, Bela, maybe he's onto something—I bet Novak gets down on his knees whenever you say, right? Easier to keep a little cock-loving whore around than deal with all the effort of having a girlfriend. Probably does your homework for you, too—"

He hardly remembered moving, but suddenly his wand was at Gordon's throat. Gordon, however, seemed to have been anticipating this, because Dean could feel his wand digging into Dean's ribcage. "Problem, Winchester?"

"Take it back," Dean hissed. "What you said about him. _Take it back!_"

"Dean, it doesn't matter, let's just go…" Cas muttered, tugging at Dean's sleeve. Dean ignored him.

Gordon grinned maliciously, apparently not at all fazed by the wand hovering right over his neck, and mused, "You're right…if he were doing you homework for you, you'd have better marks…"

"You fucking—"

"What_ exactly_ is going on here, might I ask?"

All jumped at the sound of Crowley's amused drawl, Gordon shoving his wand away much more quickly than Dean so that it looked as if Dean were the guilty one here. "Nothing, sir," said Gordon innocently. "Just a little friendly discussion."

Crowley raised his eyebrows skeptically, gaze flicking to each of their faces in turn: Bela and Gordon both feigning innocence, Dean glowering with barely suppressed anger, Castiel anxiously sneaking glances at Dean. "Indeed," he said. "Well, on a completely unrelated note I feel it is my duty to remind you that dueling in the halls is an unacceptable pastime. I suggest you return to your common rooms, though perhaps"—his eyes lingered over Dean, glaring murderously at Gordon—"not all together. Off you go. Happy Christmas."


	10. Chapter 10

The final few days before the break provided Gordon and Bela with little opportunity for harassment, aside from a few snide remarks in the halls; when Dean wasn't in class he made sure to avoid the Gryffindor common room, instead spending every waking minute with Cas—outside, in the library, wherever they thought they might find a bit of privacy. When Dean thought back to Cas as he'd first met him—serious, fearful, unbelievably shy—and compared him to Cas as he was now, the difference was incredible. He still blushed a lot and said "um" whenever he got nervous, but… he'd tease Dean, sometimes, and talk about things Dean could tell he'd never shared with anyone else. He _laughed_ now.

To be honest, Dean wasn't quite as enthusiastic about the upcoming holidays as he'd been a few weeks ago, because while it meant getting away from school for a while it also meant not seeing Castiel for two weeks. Not wanting to seem clingy, which had never been a problem in any of his other relationships, he pretended he hadn't even thought about it yet and acted just as excited as everyone else about the break.

"So, what are the family traditions at the Novak residence?" he asked on the Friday before they went home, eating lunch outside in a sheltered part of the Transfiguration courtyard. "Do you guys all go caroling, or—what's that thing where you put a sheet over your head?"

Castiel stared at him in confusion. "What? Why would we…_oh_, you mean like mummers?" He laughed. "Dean, no one actually does that anymore."

"Damnit. I always thought it looked like fun," said Dean, grinning back unembarrassed. "Okay, if you don't do that then what _do_ you guys do?"

"I don't know," Cas said with a shrug. "Just normal Christmas stuff. My family comes over and it's really loud and crazy for a few days. Gabriel usually breaks something."

"Sounds like fun." Dean tried not to be jealous. While Christmas at his house was nice, the four of them were the only family he had, and now that they were in England they couldn't even invite any of their old friends over—nothing like Cas's huge, busy holiday. "All I've got to look forward to is sitting through _Love Actually_—again. My mom makes us watch it _every_ year." This prompted an explanation of the movie to Castiel who, having been raised in an all-magic family, had never seen it or any others.

"That sounds really nice," said Cas, and to Dean's surprise he thought he could detect a hint of wistfulness in his tone. "Your Christmas, I mean, not just the movie thing."

"It's okay…yours sounds more exciting."

"I guess," said Cas doubtfully. He snuggled closer against Dean, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. Already quiet voice muffled even further by the wool of the scarf Dean wore he murmured, "I'm going to miss you."

Dean felt a wave of relief at discovering Cas felt the same way he did, despite the huge family he'd have to welcome him home. "Me too." He turned his head slightly so that he could see Cas's face, his eyes closed as if intent on preserving the feeling of having Dean so close to him uninterrupted. Should he ask? He didn't want to make Cas feel uncomfortable, pressure him into something he wasn't ready for…but he also didn't to spend two whole weeks without Cas, especially when the only other company available would be Sam and his parents. Hesitantly, making sure to indicate Cas was under no obligation to accept, he said, "Maybe…I don't know, maybe you could come stay with me. Just for a few days or something. If you wanted—I mean, it's fine if you don't, if you want to spend more time with your family or whatever, I get it, just if you maybe wanted to, uh. Yeah."

Two blue eyes opened to stare into his own green ones, and Cas said hopefully, "Really? Your family wouldn't mind?"

"Nah. I mean, I'll have to ask, but I'm sure they'd love to meet you." He pushed to the back of his mind the thought that he hadn't actually told his parents anything about Cas—specifically, the fact that he was Dean's boyfriend—and told himself he'd deal with it later. They'd be fine with it, anyways, right? "And hey, Sam already likes you. It'll be cool."

"Then I'd love to," said Cas, looking delighted. When it came time to part at King's Cross station the next day, Dean pulling Cas behind a pillar to kiss him quickly before they headed off to their respective families, both were looking forward to the break rather more than they had been two days earlier.


	11. Chapter 11

After Mary exclaimed over how much they'd grown (admittedly several inches in Sam's case, though not at all for Dean) and John jovially dragged their suitcases to the car waiting in the parking lot, the four of them went out to a London restaurant for lunch. There they were subject to the usual complaints regarding how infrequently they wrote home and demands to be told about the new school, which for the most part Dean let Sam handle; he spoke a little about Quidditch, seemingly the only thing he did that his brother did not, then proceeded to allow Sam to talk excitedly about his new friends and classes.

Despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that this was family, the people he'd known his entire life, he felt more than a little nervous of explaining him and Cas. How would they take it? The naively optimistic part of him insisted it wouldn't be a problem, while another voice replayed every comment either of his parents had ever made that could possibly be construed, in even the vaguest way, as homophobic—especially from his father.

Near the end of the meal, unable to deal with the anxiety any longer, Dean finally worked up the nerve to introduce the subject by saying, "By the way, there's—uh—someone I invited to stay for a few days. Around New Year's, if that's okay. Castiel Novak."

"Sure!" said Mary, obviously pleased at the chance to be included in Dean's social life. With him and Sam both away for the greater part of the year, she was even less involved than other parents of increasingly independent teenagers; especially when it came to Dean, as while Sam was always keen to share her firstborn tended far more towards reticence. "I haven't met any of your Hogwarts friends! He's more than welcome, as long as his parents don't mind."

And now came the difficult part. "He's not actually…I mean, we're not…he's kind of, uh…"

"He's Dean's boyfriend," said Sam helpfully.

"Sam," reprimanded Mary lightly, obviously thinking he was teasing his brother. "Be polite."

Sam looked from his mother to his father. "No, I mean he seriously _is_ Dean's boyfriend. That wasn't a joke."

Feeling his parents' stunned stares focus on him Dean dropped his gaze to the tablecloth, heat rising to his face. His lack of response seemed to tell them all they needed to know, because after the initial few moments of shock had passed Mary managed to recover herself enough to say kindly, "Well, I'd love to meet him." She nudged John, who only seemed able to manage a stiff nod.

"You _were_ going to tell them, right?" asked Sam anxiously. The springs of Dean's bed creaked as he shifted position, keeping an eye on Dean across the room unpacking the contents of the suitcase he'd brought home—mostly books and homework, since he wore Muggle clothes outside of Hogwarts.

"Yeah." Dean didn't have to ask what he meant. "Probably. I mean, I was trying. Thanks, I guess."

Sam shrugged. "I just don't get why it's such a big deal. Cas is way better than any of the girls you've been with. So what if he's a guy?"

"I don't know." His mom hadn't cared about it—sure, she'd been surprised, but after that all she'd shown was a (hopefully) genuine eagerness to meet the boy in question, and he already knew she'd love Cas. Besides, he knew what Sam had said was true; in comparison to the questionable friends and girlfriends Dean had brought home over the years, someone with even half the intelligence and politeness of Cas would have been welcomed with open arms by Mary. If, somehow, there were still any doubts, the fact that he was well read would ensure a warm reception.

No, it was John who would be the problem. He hadn't said anything outright, but after his cool reception to Dean's news he'd barely spoken a word to his eldest son. It had been hidden so well Dean might have missed it if he hadn't been looking; on the ride home John had laughed and joked as usual, but his comments had seemed to skim conveniently over Dean. He was determined not to say anything—_it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks_, he kept telling himself. Even in his head, though, the words sounded false: while Sam and Mary had naturally bonded over a love of knowledge and bookishness, John had been the one out playing sports with Dean, or showing him how to repair the '67 Impala they'd had to leave back home with Bobby…in short, he was the man Dean was always trying secretly to emulate. His hero.

"How'd you even know, anyways?" Dean asked, trying to distract himself. "I'm pretty sure I didn't tell you about it."

"Uh…yeah." Sam looked away uncomfortably. "Well, it's kind of…okay, so Cas kept telling his sister about you, so Anna came and asked _me_ if there was anything going on but I didn't know—and then that one time I tried to ask you, but you didn't really seem to want to talk about it—so finally I asked Cas the other day and he went kind of red and said _um, maybe, sort of_. Which I took to mean _definitely, yes._"

"Great story, Sam," said Dean, rolling his eyes. "Really gripping." Despite his sarcasm the anecdote had him covering a smile; he could imagine perfectly the scene Sam had just described.

The expression didn't go unmissed by Sam, who grinned and teased, "You guys are _so_ cute—"

"Shut up," growled Dean. Sam ducked the pillow Dean threw at his head, smile only disappearing when Dean added pointedly, "_Speaking_ of cute—how's Jess? Huh, Sammy? You been taking her for moonlight walks under the stars?"

Sam's face flushed scarlet as he muttered unconvincingly, "I don't know what you're talking about."


	12. Chapter 12

Dean found John in the garage, dressed in the pair of worn blue coveralls he seemed to have had forever as he fiddled around with something under the car's hood. He didn't look up when Dean entered, either too absorbed in his work to notice or trying to indicate he wanted to be left alone.

Hoping it was the former Dean asked tentatively, "Need a hand, Dad?"

John spared him a quick glance. "I'm okay, thanks—it's this damned cap, just won't stay on. You go help your mom with dinner."

"Sam's helping her," said Dean, making no move to leave. Crossing his arms he leaned against the side of the car and waited for his father to say something. He had already resigned himself to a long wait—something else in common between Dean and his father, not shared by Sam and Mary, was the tendency not to want to talk about things that were bothering them. Dean didn't want to have to bring the subject of Cas up any more than John wanted to be forced to discuss it, but this was important.

Finally, John set his wrench aside with a sigh. "Something the matter?"

"You tell me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Dean shrugged, looking away from his father's accusing gaze. "I don't know. I mean, this is the first time I've seen you in four months and you've barely talked to me since lunch. So yeah, it kind of seems like something's wrong." John's only response was to turn back to the car engine. After a few minutes, Dean had had enough—in frustration, he asked bluntly, "Is it about Cas?"

"Of course not. I'm glad you're making friends."

The ringing echo of Dean's hand slapping against the side of the car was enough to make John leave his task again to regard his son warily as he snapped, "We're not just friends, Dad. I already told you."

"Dean—"

"Mom doesn't have a problem with it. I don't see why you should."

"Look, what _exactly_ do you want me to say, Dean? _Congratulations?_" John asked brusquely, leaving a smear of grease on his forehead as he shoved a hand absently through his hair.

"No," said Dean, stung. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure what he was looking to hear. That it was alright, maybe; that John didn't care, as long as Dean was happy. Not this, certainly.

"I just—" John squeezed his eyes closed and let his head fall back, as if asking for patience. "I mean, where the _hell_ did this come from? You've never even _mentioned_ having—_feelings_—for…for another… is this a phase, or something? Are you just experimenting, or—"

"You know what? Forget it," Dean snarled. _Just a phase? _How could John _say_ that? After all the girls Dean had brought him, none of them lasting more than a month or so before he was onto someone new—this, that had taken him weeks to work up the courage to initiate, that had made him feel more than he'd felt with any girl even in so short a space—_this_ was just a phase? He dragged the back of his hand angrily across his stinging eyes. Ignoring his father's protests he stormed off, pausing only at the top of the stairs to add, "Ever consider maybe _this_ was why I didn't ever talk about stuff like that, Dad?"

Sam and Mary were in the kitchen, laughing at the potato Sam had accidentally shot across the room while trying to peel it. "Dean, could you pick that up?" Mary called as he passed, but he ignored her, not wanting either of them to see the hot tears now spilling down his cheeks. Though he didn't look back, he could picture their faces as clearly as if he had: smiles fading, an exchange of glances, and the inevitable _"_you or me?" that preceded one of them coming to find out what was wrong, because they could never just leave him alone.

Sure enough, a tentative knock at his door came after a few moments, and without waiting for an invitation Mary entered. "Go away," he mumbled halfheartedly, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

He didn't turn around, but the sound of her footsteps told him she was approaching, until he felt a hand touch his shoulder gently. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing."

She knew him, and she knew that the way to make him talk was not to pester but to leave silence invitingly open to be filled up; so she didn't press the matter, and soon he found himself saying reluctantly, "I talked to Dad."

"Oh, honey…" Without having to ask for any further clarification, she seemed to understand exactly what the matter was. "Whatever he said, he doesn't mean it. This isn't easy for him…"

"Yeah? How do you think it feels for _me_?"

"I know, I know." She rubbed his shoulder soothingly, and despite his anger he felt himself beginning to relax slightly. "And there's absolutely nothing wrong with being who you are—I hope you realize we're both very proud of you for being brave enough to accept that, even if it doesn't seem like it right now. Your father just needs a day or two to adjust. He comes from a very traditional family."

"So do you," Dean objected, far from ready to let John use that as an excuse.

"Yes, but…I don't know. We're different. John's more down-to-earth, I think—and, unfortunately, that's where you find a lot of ignorant people, people who'll think the way you were born is wrong. He doesn't want you to get hurt." When Dean didn't reply, obviously not yet ready to forgive, she sighed and gave his shoulder one last squeeze, saying, "Give him a few days, and I promise he'll come around. He loves you. We both do."

There was another knock at the door, this one even more hesitant than his mother's, and Sam's face peered around the edge of the doorframe. "Dean? Want to go play soccer?"

"Sure," said Dean dully. Though he felt a little better, his father's rejection still stung like a slap to the face; he didn't particularly want company. Still, he appreciated Sam's effort to cheer him up, and any excuse to get away from the house—away from John—was fine by him.

As usual, however, Mary proved to be right. While there was still a noticeable distance between Dean and his father, by the time Christmas day came around John had already made several awkward attempts at repairing the relationship, bringing up the subject of Cas's impending visit without any outside prompt. "This boy…"

"Castiel," Dean supplied.

"Right, Castiel. How long's he staying for?"

"Three days. New Year's Eve to the end of the break."

"And where'll we put him?" This question seemed to be directed at Mary, seated at the other end of the table.

"I though maybe he could have Dean's room," she said.

John frowned. "I don't think—"

"And Dean could share with Sam."

"Oh. Right." Silence descended, all four family members apparently extremely absorbed by the food on their plates. Then John cleared his throat and asked, "Does he play Quidditch with you?"

"Uh…no," said Dean. He exchanged a glance with Sam, but both had to look away hurriedly to stop from laughing at the thought. "He's in Sam's house. And he, uh, doesn't play Quidditch."

John nodded, after which there were again several moments of silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Mary trying to hide a smile. "How'd you two meet, then?"

Dean hesitated, unsure how much to say—as far as he knew, neither of his parents were aware of how bad his grades had been two months earlier, and he was keen to keep it that way. "He, uh…helps me out with my homework once in a while." He glared at Sam across the table, sending a silent message to his brother not to say anything. Aside from rolling his eyes at the exaggeration, Sam complied.

Christmas passed quietly, as it always did at the Winchester residence; and soon enough it was December 30, with everyone rushing around preparing for the next day. Aside from Castiel, who would be arriving on the morning of New Year's Eve, their house would play host to several of Mary's colleagues and their partners. Dean, who ordinarily would have resented the party, now welcomed it as an opportunity for him and Cas not to be the centre of attention. He just hoped they took after Mary rather than John in their attitude towards his boyfriend.

Sam was up sulking in his room at the fact that Dean wouldn't take him to London, and John was going over the route once more for Dean, who would be driving there by himself for the first, when John paused and coughed uncomfortably. "Uh, before you go…your mother and I have been talking, and we decided on some, uh, ground rules."

"Dad, it's okay," said Dean hurriedly. "You don't—"

John ignored him, plowing ahead with the air of one determined to get through an unpleasant job as quickly as possible. "No closed doors if you two are alone together, okay? Only if Sam's there."

"No sex unless Sam's there. Got it."

"And no sneaking off during the party tonight—your mother and I want to know where you're going."

"Dad—"

"And if you do, uh…decide to…uh…I mean, in the future…well, just be safe."

It was hard to tell whom the conversation had horrified more. "Come on, Dad, we've barely been together two weeks." Officially, anyways. "We're not going to…"

"Good." John looked relieved. "I mean, not that I thought it would be a problem anyways, it was just—your mother, you know how she gets—"

"Yeah. Right."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Dean was extremely glad to get on the road.


	13. Chapter 13

The train station was crowded, filled with so many people Dean wondered how he'd ever manage to find Cas. Wandering over to the platform where Cas's train was supposed to arrive, he joined the fringes of the throng to watch the sleek vehicle arrive, pulling to a stop with a loud squealing of brakes. He stood on tiptoe in an attempt to see over the heads of the people around him, all of whom seemed to be considerably taller than he was, and craned his neck for any sign of Cas.

Several times he caught sight of a head of dark messy hair and almost called out, but each one turned out to be too old, or too tall, or too tanned, or with the wrong colour eyes; not his boyfriend, anyways. Then, finally, he spotted him: hair neatly combed for once, blue-and-grey Ravenclaw scarf wrapped around his neck, clutching his suitcase tightly as he looked around anxiously.

"Cas!" Dean called excitedly, waving to get his attention. He shouldered several people aside, ignoring their indignant protests; all he could see was Cas, his face lighting up as he saw Dean making his way towards him. The suitcase was set hurriedly down and, not caring about all the people around them, Dean swept Cas up in an enthusiastic kiss.

"Merry Christmas," said Dean with a grin.

One hand found the handle of the suitcase while the other twined fingers with Cas's, and the pair began to make their way out of the busy station, comparing holidays on the way. "…and he just met her in a bar and invited her along," Cas was saying as Dean maneuvered his suitcase into the trunk of the car, concluding a story about the Swedish witch his brother Gabriel had brought to their Christmas dinner. "I mean, she didn't even speak English."

Dean laughed, though he couldn't help feeling slightly put out that his own Christmas was so tame by comparison. Cas hardly seemed to have had time to miss him, what with all the weird family stuff that appeared to be practically a holiday tradition. "Well, sorry, but I think my place is going to seem pretty boring to you."

"No way." Cas shook his head vehemently. "I was ready to leave after about the first two hours." Though Dean had his eyes on the road, he could see Castiel's gaze drop to his feet as he added quietly, "I tend to get overlooked."

He'd never really considered that, when he thought about what it would be like to have a big family; now that it had been mentioned, though, he could see how it would be a problem. Especially with Cas, who was brilliant and sweet and funny when you got him talking, but took an incredible amount of time and coaxing to get out of his shell. "Thank God," said Dean in an attempt to cheer him up, "or you'd be dating some seven-foot bodybuilder and I'd be failing all my classes." He glanced over for a moment, just in time to catch Cas's smile.

A thought occurred to Dean and, frowning, he added, "Speaking of which, how come you ever agreed to tutor me in the first place? You _knew_ the kind of people I hung out with, and it's not like we'd even talked before. Hell, I didn't even know who you were."

"Um…" Another quick glance told him Cas's trademark blush was creeping into place. "I'd kind of…um…fancied you for a while, actually."

"Really?" That explained some of the awkwardness when they'd first started spending time together, then—Dean had just been focused on passing Transfiguration (along with a few wild imaginings he'd hurriedly quashed at the time), while Cas was trying to act normal around someone he had a massive crush on. No mean feat, in Dean's experience; his brother was living proof of that any time the name _Jess_ was so much as mentioned. "You're fucking adorable, Cas," he said, unable to conceal a grin.

"Quit worrying. My parents are going to love you."

"I'm not worrying."

"Uh, yeah, you are." Dean threw an arm around Cas's neck to pull him in for a kiss, using his free hand to ruffle Cas's hair out of it unnatural neatness.

"Stop! Stop!" Cas protested, attempting to squirm free. "It took me _ages_ to get it to lie flat!"

"Dude, seriously—_relax_," Dean laughed. "You could show up in your pajamas and they'd be thrilled, compared with some of the girls I've brought home." He fumbled for his house keys in his pocket, but before he could find them the door was opened by Sam.

"Hi, Cas," he said. Then he turned to Dean and added, "About time—Mom's been driving me _nuts. _She's _really_ excited." Dean rolled his eyes.

Introductions went smoothly—Mary was as enthusiastic as Sam had implied, and even John was gruffly polite. Dean rescued Cas from being drawn into a literary debate with his mother, who had been keen to discuss the subject ever since Dean had accidentally let it slip that Cas liked to read, by taking him on the requisite tour of the house. After lunch, the brother managed to slip out of party preparations for the evening by taking Cas to the ice rink a few blocks away, with some interesting results based on their respective skating skill levels; Cas was good, apparently having spent the greater part of his winters growing up skating on a frozen pond by his house, Sam was fair, and Dean, the most athletic of the three, was inexplicably abysmal.

"I don't understand," said Cas, untangling his legs from the heap the three of them had ended up in for the fourth time and attempting to help Dean to his feet, "how you can be so _bad_."

"I know," Sam agreed. "Like, I didn't realize it was humanly possible…"

Laughing at the affronted expression on Dean's face, Cas added hurriedly, "No, no, just…you're not clumsy at all when you play Quidditch."

"And now you can't even stay upright." Taking pity on his older brother, Sam grabbed his other hand and, with a joint effort from him and Cas, they managed to tug him back up.

"Shut up. And, _for the record_, that kid totally cut me off." He glared at the offending child, who was skating off after his sister much faster than Dean could have managed and seemed completely oblivious to the havoc he'd created. "If that were a car accident, I would _not_ have been at fault."

When they arrived home late in the afternoon, all rather giddy from laughter and falling down, all three were roped into a variety of chores. Dean apologized to Cas for having been made to work, but privately he thought Cas looked more relieved than resentful at being included in the activities. And, anyways, he had to admit it was kind of fun; something about everyone bustling around created what he could only describe as a pre-party atmosphere. In Cas's place, he would much rather have been right in the middle of the impromptu vegetable-chopping competition that arose between the three of them than stuck awkwardly with nothing to do, just trying not to get in the way.

The first guests arrived just after seven thirty, everyone else showing up in quick succession after that. By about the fourth round of introductions Dean was completely lost—though on the bright side, no one seemed to be blink at Mary's own introduction of "My husband John—my son Sam—my son Dean—and Dean's boyfriend Castiel."

And despite John's earlier instruction not to sneak off during the party, their relatively small house was so crowded with people Dean had no idea how anyone could possibly have missed their presence; both his parents were constantly busy socializing with various guests, and even Sam was engaged in an intent conversation with one of his mother's colleagues.

He and Cas stuck together for the most part, neither by nature especially comfortable in crowds. After about an hour the noise, the heat of the room, and the vaguely claustrophobic sense created by having more than a dozen people in a place that usually only contained four had become a little much for Dean, and placing his mouth by Cas's ear to be heard properly he asked, "D'you want to get out of here for a bit?" When Cas nodded, he took the other boy's hand and led him into the hall, where both pulled on jackets and shoes before stepping out into the chilly winter air.

They sat on the front step and settled into the position that had already come to feel so natural it seemed they'd been doing it for years—Dean with his arm around Cas, Cas resting his head on Dean's shoulder. For a while both were content to simply sit in silence, listening to the muffled sounds of music, conversation, and laughter coming from inside.

After some time Cas glanced at his watch and said with a crooked smile, "Everyone in my family is probably dead drunk by now."

"Even Anna?" Somehow he couldn't imagine Cas's intractable twin staggering around intoxicated.

"_Especially _Anna."

"Wow. Awkward." He definitely couldn't see Cas joining in on all the festivities—though he'd been wrong about Anna, and it _was_ the guy's family, after all… "What about you? Don't try to tell me you're not partying it up as hard as everyone else—"

Cas elbowed him in the ribs, laughing. "You _know_ I don't! I usually hang out with my younger cousins—even in _my_ family people under the age of eight aren't really encouraged to drink."

"Sounds like fun. I guess for me this is the first year in a while that I haven't gone to one of my friend's parties—actually, most years I probably would have been just as hammered as your sister right now." He neglected to mention that he also would most likely have been hooking up with some random girl in his friend's parents' bedroom; somehow, he got the feeling Cas wouldn't have been that thrilled to hear it.

Cas didn't say anything for a moment, and Dean wondered whether he had managed to guess anyways; but then he asked, "Do you miss it? America, I mean. Your old home."

Not too long ago Dean would have answered with a vehement _yes_—he missed his old friends, his old school, his old town, the way things were done back home, _everything_. And he still did; still hadn't adjusted to the funny accents or the fact that he went to school in a frigging _castle_, not to mention the fact that practically all his new friendships, never especially profound to begin with, had dissolved into outright enmity.

But…there was no Cas back home. That, he was slightly startled to realize, was what it really came down to.

"Sometimes," he said with a shrug. "I miss my friends, mostly. Everything's just… _different_ here."

"Are you going to go back at the end of the year?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Silence again from Cas; and while it was too dark to see his expression clearly, when Dean turned his head slightly he could see Cas biting his lip uncomfortably. Almost unconsciously he tightened his grip around Cas's shoulders and added with a small smile, "Might depend what you're doing. I'm not sure how I feel about the whole long distance relationship thing."

Cas raised his head, and Dean couldn't help noticing how pretty his blue eyes looked in the faint yellow glow of a nearby streetlight. Whether one moved first or, through some silent communication, the motion was synchronized, was unclear; but suddenly Dean's hand was twining in Cas's hair, and their lips were pressing together in a gentle kiss.

It was different than the times before—there weren't the nerves of the first time, or the knowledge of being potentially visible to the public eye that had accompanied most of their kisses. Behind them was a house full of people, but they were all busy amongst themselves, unconcerned with their colleague's eldest son and his boyfriend sitting outside in the cold. Dean's free arm wrapped around Cas, pulling them closer together; and if he had expected the inexperienced Cas to be nervous or uncomfortable when Dean's tongue started gingerly pressing Cas's lips open he had underestimated how comfortable Cas seemed to feel around Dean in general.

Cas's hum of surprised pleasure vibrated through Dean's mouth as he licked a stripe along the roof of the other boy's mouth. Castiel tasted just so…well, just so much like _Castiel_. He had no words to describe it, nor did he want any as long as he could simply _taste_, simply _feel_; the wind was starting to pick up a little, so that he began to shiver through his jacket, but he didn't care. The heat of the body in his arms seemed to rage like a fire even through the layers of clothing, burning his skin wonderfully wherever they met. Without breaking the kiss Dean tugged Cas onto his lap, smiling against his lips at the squeak the action produced from him.

Dean could feel fingers abandoning their grip in his hair to slip gently, timidly beneath his collar. By rights it ought to have been the most innocent touch possible, Cas's thumb stroking his collarbone with the rest of his fingers at the back of Dean's neck—but _fuck_, the things it was doing to him—he had to shift his position slightly so that Cas wouldn't feel the fact that he was already half hard in his jeans.

They broke apart for a moment and simply sat with their foreheads pressed together, silent save for the panting of their breath. Cas looked…God, Dean didn't even know how to describe him. Beautiful, in a way that might not have seemed beautiful to anyone else seeing him as just another boy but which was to Dean possibly the most perfect thing he'd ever seen, with Cas's cheeks flushed pink and his eyes sparkling a little darker than usual and his lips red and slick and swollen. Unable to help himself Dean leaned in to kiss him again, nipping at his lower lip to make it even more so. His own hands slunk lower to trace the tantalizing line of skin between shirt and pants—what would it be like to feel _all_ of Castiel's skin, and not just against his fingertips but against his entire body; and to feel the other boy's hands around his—

Cas pulled back again, and Dean's eyes snapped open. Considering how new Cas was to this whole thing he wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be with going, or even contemplating going, much further than a bit of light making out; not that Dean could see how he could possibly have known what was going through Dean's head at that moment, but if he had…

"Did you do the work I gave you?" Cas asked seriously.

"Wha…uh, sorry, _what?_"

"The reading on poisons and antidotes? Because we'll be getting right into that in class when we get back to school, and—"

Staring at him in disbelief, Dean said incredulously, "Cas, did you seriously stop kissing me to ask about _homework?_"

"Um…" Cas rubbed the back his neck with an air of embarrassment, as if only just realizing what he'd done. "Yes? Sorry, I just—um—"

"God, that is so—" He struggled to think of a suitable and finally settled for simply—"_you._"

The interruption had been just as well, really, though he didn't say so to Cas; a glance at his watch told him it was nearly quarter to midnight. If they'd stayed out much longer someone would have been sure to come looking, and—well. Who knew what could have happened in the space of ten minutes? Either way, it wasn't a scene he particularly wanted anyone inside the house to have walked in on.

"I did do it though, yeah," he said, taking pity on a clearly mortified Cas. "I didn't just give it all up as soon as my hot tutor started paying attention to me. Come on, or we'll miss the new year." He resisted sneaking another quick kiss in an effort to cool down somewhat, settling instead for simply linking hands with Cas as they rose to their feet and made their way back inside.

They were greeted by a gust of laughter, and conversation, and warmth that made Dean realize just how cold and quiet it had been out on the porch; but it was a different kind of warmth here, not the same as the way Cas's touch had seemed to burn into his chilly skin. Friendlier, he supposed; more welcoming. Not necessarily bad, just different. He liked that, the fact that they could be locked in such a heated, private embrace out there, and then come in here and be…just friends again, really. Friends who touched each other differently from others and kissed when they thought no one would notice and didn't always talk a lot because they didn't have to; but still friends who could hang out with other people and not make everyone else uncomfortable. He'd never really had anyone like that before, anyone he could take skating with Sam the way he'd done that afternoon without somebody feeling like a third wheel.

He was wondering how he could possibly say any of this without sounding utterly idiotic—because he wanted to thank Cas, somehow, to tell him how much he mattered, since all too few people seemed to have said anything along those lines to him these past few years—when Cas looked over at him and smiled. It made Dean think back to when he'd first met Cas: to the silent, beaten-down boy hunched over his books, to the boy he'd sat with in the broom cupboard covered in bruises and ready to give up—and he realized that perhaps he didn't have to say anything, after all. So he just grinned back, hardly noticing who was around him or what they were saying or what was going on at all in the rest of the room.

"Cut it out, guys," said Sam disgustedly. "Midnight's in, like, ten minutes. Can't you wait _that_ long to get all gross?"

"You're just bitter because Jess isn't here," Dean accused.

"No I'm _not_!"

"Whatever you say, Romeo…"

"Shut up!"

Sam was indignant and Cas was laughing, his fingers still laced through Dean's; and before they knew it some astute person with their eyes trained on the clock above the mantelpiece had started the countdown, everyone quickly taking it up until it was down to "five…four…three…two…one! _Happy New Year!"_

Across the room Dean could see his mother pulling his father in for a kiss, just as other couples were doing. Ordinarily he would have made a face and told them to get a room; but it was New Year's, and anyways he had something better to be doing. Cupping Cas's chin he tilted his boyfriend's head up slightly, to compensate for the height difference, and murmured, _"_Happy New Year, Cas," before pressing their lips together.

On Monday Dean would be back at school, forced once again to deal with whatever Gordon and Bela decided to hit him with, but for now…the atmosphere in the room was loud and hot and boisterous from a group of friendly, slightly tipsy university professors; the effort Dean had begun to put into his schoolwork was paying off, so that he was actually starting to believe he might have a chance at passing his N.E.W.T.'s; he was with his family, in a country that was starting to feel maybe just a _little_ like it could be home; and he was _kissing Cas_, who was gorgeous and affectionate and funny even when he didn't mean to be and made Dean feel comfortable.

So right now, Dean Winchester was happy.


	14. Chapter 14

It did not take someone of Dean's brother's vibrant intellect to make a fairly educated guess regarding the state of Castiel's virginity—specifically, that it was still fully intact.

To be fair the guy didn't seem to have had much of an opportunity to change this, considering that aside from his twin the people surrounding him had either ignored or pick on him for the past six-and-a-half years. Even if he'd wanted to (and somehow, Dean found it rather difficult to imagine) there wasn't really anyone who might have proved a legitimate option for changing that.

Which was all totally fine, as far as Dean was concerned; certainly he couldn't pretend to make the same claim of himself, but it didn't matter to him whether Cas was, in the kindest possible terms, somewhat _inexperienced_. It wasn't about the sex, the way it had been for him at times in the past—or it wasn't _just_ about the sex, anyways. It was about him _wanting_ Cas, because he was beautiful and incredible and maybe Dean was kind of in love with him, and wanting it because he wanted _everything_ he could possibly have with Cas.

And if Cas wanted to go slow, then that was fine, too. He'd wait. He'd do whatever it took to get Cas comfortable; the last thing he wanted was to shove him into something he wasn't ready for.

But…

It was March now. They'd been together five months, and not _once_ in that time had Cas shown even the slightest inclination to move further than just kissing. In fact Dean was beginning to wonder if Cas simply wasn't interested in doing anything more with him; after a bit of making out he knew _he_ certainly had to take a time-out to try and cool down, which he was fairly sure Cas had noticed by now—but his boyfriend, while very understanding, never seemed to go through the same difficulty himself.

So if Cas didn't feel _that way_ about him, had he made a mistake in asking him out? Maybe Cas had simply been so happy to have a friend, something that didn't happen very often to him, that he'd wanted to return the favour, or—or he'd mistaken friendship for something more; or maybe he just didn't like Dean as much as he'd thought he'd liked him. He was still as affectionate as always, and Dean _couldn't_ believe that everything he'd felt between them before he decided to take things a step further had just been his imagination; but he couldn't help wondering what was wrong with him, that Cas didn't seem to find him half as desirable as he found Cas.

It was another Hogsmeade weekend, one both Dean and Cas had opted out of, and they could instead be found in Castiel's dormitory. Though this was not technically allowed since Dean wasn't in Ravenclaw, there weren't enough people around to make a fuss; anyways, by seventh year most students had learned how far they could reasonably push the rules, with no older students above them to tell them otherwise.

Cas had suggested the location ostensibly as a place to study for their upcoming (i.e. in three-and-a-half months' time) exams—and as of now, much to a rather disgruntled Dean's surprise, this was exactly what they had done. He'd figured it would be just an excuse, that maybe they'd do ten minutes' worth of scanning through Cas's meticulous notes before the whole thing dissolved into them necking on Cas's bed. But no: nearly two hours had gone by already with nothing more suggestive happening than Cas once using the word _penetrate_ in his description of long-term transfiguration, and despite Dean's ill-disguised snicker even that had gone right over his head.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that the last time he'd gotten anything more than a quick kiss had been almost two weeks ago, due to the rather limited number of relatively private places around Hogwarts as well as the fact that both had been busy with school, and Dean with Quidditch as well. After what seemed to Dean to have been an eternity it was pure torture to be alone with Cas, sitting on his bed watching him bit his lip and ruffle his already-messy hair as he concentrated, and not even be allowed to touch.

Eventually, out of pure desperation, he asked bluntly, "Can we take a break?"

Cas tore his eyes away from his notes to glance at his watch. "Oh. Sure, yeah. Sorry, I didn't realize how long we'd been going for. Do you want to, um, go get something to eat, or—"

The end of his sentence was lost as Dean set the stacks of paper and textbooks cluttering the bed firmly aside and pulled him in to press their lips purposefully together. Cas complied eagerly—so eagerly Dean almost wondered whether this _had_ been his original intention after all, only he hadn't known quite how to go about initiating things. Knowing Cas, either option seemed equally likely. But, more importantly…

_God_, he'd missed this. The way Castiel's tongue pressed against his own, the tangle of dark hair grasped in his fingers—the hand that was bracing itself against the back of his neck, sending delicious shivers down his spine—but he wanted more, he _needed _more—

The fingers of his free hand found their way to the buttons of the other boy's shirt and began to tug them open, slowly enough that Cas had a chance to stop him if he wanted. For a moment Dean thought he would, feeling Cas's mouth harden as he tensed in surprise; but after a very long few seconds of hesitation Cas simply tightened his grip on the back of Dean's head to deepen the kiss even further.

He stopped before the last few buttons when he felt Cas begin to squirm with nervousness, or discomfort, or _something_ that Dean wanted gone as soon as possible. Instead he stroked a finger down the middle of the now bare skin of Cas's chest—and maybe it was just Dean, but his skin seemed far hotter than anyone's had a right to be, particularly when he got down to the lower abdomen. The pressure was just enough for him to feel the sharp bones of his ribcage, the knots of muscle beneath the skin; and then, once again moving at a pace that allowed Cas to avert the action should he feel the need, his fingers moved up to rub his nipple.

Cas was squirming once again but this time it seemed to be from pleasure, if the moan that vibrated through Dean's mouth was anything to go by. A nip to his already flushed lips, a slight tug at the hardening bud, his free hand slipping down the back of the boy's undone shirt to trace the lines of his shoulders; Cas hardly seemed to notice as Dean pressed him gently down onto the bed, straddling his hips to kneel over him. Dean was so hard by now it almost hurt, his blood pounding so heavily he could barely think straight—he broke away for a moment, panting; and _fuck_ did Castiel look good, shirt open and lips red and hair messy and those fucking _blue eyes_—

Leaving one hand to toy with Cas's nipples, to his continued enjoyment, the other slunk lower to caress where his skin stretched tight over the bones of his hips, and then following the dip right down to the top of his pants. All the while he was pressing his swollen mouth against Castiel's neck, his shoulders, his throat, relishing the vibration of the boy's heightened pulse; whether from loss of blood to his head as it all pooled elsewhere or from the sheer intoxication of being able to do this to, _fuck_, being able to do this to _Castiel_ he was feeling wonderfully dizzy.

Dean was acting on pure animal instinct now, brain far too hazy with lust for him to manage anything bearing the slightest resemblance to clear thinking. He'd discovered that Cas's pants were just loose enough for his fingers to slip under, stroking down the feverish skin beneath the band of his underwear—but even that wasn't enough, he wanted those pants off right _now_ so that he could see him and touch him and press against him, because he would look so goddamned _good_ naked, exposed; he wanted to make him fall apart, and to fall apart with him—

He'd hardly noticed Cas's hand on his wrist, even though the boy's nails dug into his skin as he tried to move his hand. The pressure against his chest had changed too, from the captivated fondling of a moment earlier to something more solid, more urgent. And Cas was saying something, or at least Dean thought he was saying something, he couldn't really tell—he just liked hearing the sound of his voice…

So he didn't realize anything was wrong until Cas cried, "_Stop it!_ Get off!" and finally succeeded in what it was now obvious he'd been attempting to do before by shoving Dean off him.

A minute ago Dean would have said, had he been in any fit state to say anything remotely rational, that there was nothing in the world capable of breaking him out of the feverish lust consuming his body; but the sight of Castiel, shrunk back against the far corner of the bed with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees and a… well, an almost _scared_ expression on his face, brought him back to his sense quicker than a cold shower. "Shit, Cas, what's the matter?" he asked in concern. "Did I hurt you?"

Cas shook his head, not meeting Dean's gaze. When Dean reached out to touch him, to comfort him, he flinched away, and Dean felt as if he'd been slapped across the face. "Come on, what's wrong?"

"Could you…could you just leave, please?" Cas mumbled. His voice sounded shaky, maybe because he was still scared or maybe because he was trying not to cry or maybe both and whatever it was, Dean hated it. It reminded him of the way Cas had sounded whenever he had tried to say something to Gordon or Bela or one of the others during the course of his typical daily tortures, asking them to move out of the way or give him his books back and maintaining that desperate politeness even though he _knew_ what was coming.

Dealing with emotions was not something at which Dean was particularly adept. A normal response for him here would have been to convert whatever mess of feelings were churning in him right now into anger, which was by far easier to deal with, and shout at Cas for clamming up or maybe just storm out of the room altogether. But how well had _that_ ever worked in the past? Just about as well as his other relationships had turned out, really. Besides, this was _Cas_—and how could he leave when his last memory of the scene would be Cas cringing under his touch? "Cas—whatever I did, I'm sorry. I swear, I never meant to…"

"_Please_," said Cas desperately. "Just _go._"

He was utterly lost. Cas had been enjoying it, hadn't he? It had certainly _sounded _like it. _And_ he'd been kissing Dean back pretty enthusiastically, not to mention being guilty of his own hands doing some wandering—the skin of Dean's chest still tingled from where they'd found their way up his shirt, though the feeling was rapidly fading. What had gone wrong, then? He couldn't make it out, and Cas was still pressed into the corner as far away from Dean as he could get…

So, for the first time in his life, Dean asked, "Can we talk about this?"

"It's…I'm being stupid, just forget it…"

Dean saw Cas drag a hand angrily across his eyes, clearly trying to wipe away tears before his boyfriend noticed. He didn't reach out to touch him this time, though he wanted to do so more than anything; nor, however, did he make any move to leave. "It's not stupid. Just tell me about it."

For a moment he actually thought Cas would ignore him, would just not say anything at all until Dean gave up and left him alone. His head had dropped onto his arms to hide his face in a manner that rather discouraged conversation and his shoulders were hunched uneasily; but eventually, when he realized Dean truly wasn't going anywhere, he looked up again and said, "You were going too fast! And I tried to stop you but you weren't listening and I thought…"

"You thought what?"

"I…nothing. Forget it."

"_Cas_."

"I thought you were just going to keep on, okay? I thought you didn't care that I didn't…that I wasn't…"

And as the message of what Cas was trying to say sank in, Dean found himself suddenly furious—not at Cas, never at Cas, even though what his boyfriend was basically telling him was that he hadn't managed to start trusting him yet—but at _every other fucking person_ who had come into contact with him, every person who'd picked on him until he'd started to think that saying _stop_ didn't matter because no one _listened_, no one _cared_, and anyways it just made them laugh; and at every person who'd simply ignored him because it was easier than sticking their neck out so that in the end there was no one to stand up for him. Furious at himself, too, though he knew it wasn't really his fault, for becoming one of the first group; even if it were only for a moment, even if it were accidental, even if he'd wanted the complete opposite.

His wand lay with the books and papers he'd set on the floor, indisputably out of reach; yet it still somehow began to spit angry red sparks from the tip. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself down before he did something he might regret, and when the blood pounding in his ears had slowed to a manageably level he said, "Let's get something straight right now. We'll do this when you're ready and not one _fucking _second before, _okay?_" It came out rather more forcefully than he'd intended, and until Cas had had a chance to process the words they seemed only to make him shrink away even more. Then, slowly, his expression began to change, as if he couldn't _quite_ believe what Dean was saying but maybe, _maybe_, it was real. The sight produced an ugly, sick feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach—even if it had been someone else, someone who wasn't his boyfriend, _no one_ ought to have to be told they had worth to believe it.

"Listen…" This time, when Dean reached out to take his hand, the boy didn't shy away. "I didn't mean to push you. I'm sorry. I got carried away, but I don't…I would never…it's your call, you know?"

Cas nodded. Though he didn't seem able to say anything, he began to extricate himself from the corner of the bed and gravitate back towards Dean, instead curling up against the slightly larger boy. "I overreacted," he mumbled into Dean's arm.

"No, you didn't."

"Sorry."

"You don't have to—"

"I just panicked."

"Cas, it's _fine._"

And then Cas took him completely by surprise and said, "I love you."

Clearly he had been expecting to say it exactly as much as Dean was expecting to hear it, because when Dean pulled back to look at him properly he appeared just as taken aback as Dean felt.

Not, when he thought about it, that the statement itself was really so shocking. The same idea had been lurking hazily in the back of his own mind for some time; he'd just never worked up the courage to put it into words, telling himself Cas probably didn't need to hear it said aloud.

He pressed his lips against the top of Cas's head; and because maybe it wouldn't hurt to say it outright, anyways, especially after what had just happened, he said, "Me too."


	15. Chapter 15

Though the past few months had gone by without any major incidents involving one of Dean's ex-friends, both he and Cas were still subject to a fairly constant stream of petty vindictiveness. Gordon "accidentally" stumbled into Dean in the halls so that he dropped all his books, Bela made loud, rude, and explicitly sexual remarks whenever she saw the couple together, and Cas had been on the verge of tears five weeks earlier when an unknown member of the group adding their own improvisation to his Shrinking Solution had caused him to fail an assignment for the first time ever.

Not to mention the Quidditch changing rooms. He had no doubt Cas had had to put up with far worse, but for him this was where, unbridled by adult supervision, Gordon could hurl abuse at him blatantly without fear of retribution. For the most part he had learned to simply grit his teeth and pretend not to notice as Gordon or one of his friends shoved him around or made a big deal out of making sure they'd already changed by the time Dean arrived so that "that fag doesn't start coming onto me." Even when Jo demanded to know how on earth he'd managed to come by a split lip between leaving practice uninjured and returning to the common room, he took a leaf out of Cas's book and muttered that he fell. It wasn't completely a lie; he just left out the part that Gordon had helped him fall, several times, into the corner of one of the lockers.

Frankly, it sucked. If he hadn't loved Quidditch so much—and if he hadn't doubted Jo's chances of finding a half-decent replacement for him at this point in the season—he would have quit long ago.

"You have to tell someone," Sam had said anxiously, the one time he'd been unwise enough to complain to his younger brother. "They can't just…that's harassment. They ought to be suspended."

"Yeah, well, maybe back home—here, I don't know."

"But it can't be _that_ different! There has to be _some_ rule against it. If the teachers knew—"

"Cas has been putting up with this for seven fucking years, Sam," Dean snapped. "And no one's ever done anything, except for his sister, so clearly _no one actually cares._"

"But—"

"Just drop it, okay?"

Sam's face took on a mulish expression that indicated he had no intention of doing anything of the sort; however, in a clear instance of divine intervention a certain Hufflepuff chose that moment to interrupt. "Um, Sam?" said Jess from behind the pair, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear absently.

He whirled around and stared for a moment, clearly at a loss as to what to do, before finally realizing a response was probably expected. "Uh…hi…"

"I was just wondering…did, um, did that Charms lesson this afternoon make any sense to you?"

"Lesson?" he asked blankly, as if he had never heard of such a thing before.

"We were learning about Cheering Charms…"

"Oh. Oh yeah. Right. Uh. Yeah, it was, uh… good…for me…"

Dean rolled his eyes and wondered if he had ever been this bad. He couldn't really remember, but he suspected not, on the basis that it seemed physically impossible to stage a conversation more awkward than the one to which he was currently bearing witness.

"Um…do you think you might be able to, you know, give me a few tips sometime, then? I don't want to bother you, only Professor Harvelle said it might be on the exam, and I'm not really…"

"No—I mean yeah, no, yeah, it's not a problem. I'd, uh, love to give you a hand." Sam, to Dean's amusement, began to turn a spectacular shade of scarlet. "I mean not love to, but, um…not that I don't… like, yeah, we could. Uh. Definitely."

"Oh, thank you so much! Maybe…maybe on Friday, then? After class?"

He nodded, apparently too dazed to do anything else. She flashed him one last shy smile before disappearing back into the press of students crowding the Entrance Hall where the Winchesters had been talking.

"Congratulations, Sammy," said Dean, clapping his brother on the back. "That was without a doubt the most painful social interaction I've ever seen. You are just _slick _with the ladies, aren't you?"

"Shut up." Despite Sam's scowl, he seemed too excited to muster any real annoyance at his older brother's teasing. At any rate the conversation he and Dean had been having before Jess's timely interruption appeared to have been forgotten entirely, and Dean was determined to leave it that way. No use complaining about something he couldn't change.

So, that evening at seven-thirty (the latest he could leave it without getting a dirty look from Jo), he glumly shut his Transfiguration textbook and said, "I'll see you later," to Cas as he stood to leave the library table at which they'd been seated since finishing dinner.

Cas glanced up from the copy of _Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell_ Dean had leant him with the vaguely dazed expression he often had after being disrupted from his reading. Dean loved that look. For a moment, it even made him forget about the unappealing evening looming before him; but then Cas managed to drag himself back to the present enough to say sympathetically, "Quidditch practice?"

"Yeah."

"I guess I'll see you in Herbology tomorrow, then." He smiled at Dean—how the _hell_ did that still make his heart speed up, after all this time?—and added, "We're working with the Venomous Tentacula again, that ought to cheer you up…"

"Oh, definitely. Nothing I love more than a poisonous plant that wants to eat me. Fucking fantastic."

By the time he arrived everyone else was already out on the field; and as usual, once he'd joined the rest of his team Jo worked them far too hard for anyone to spare a breathe for taunting, allowing him to avoid outright confrontation until the team split once again to file exhausted into the separate change rooms after practice.

"Keep your clothes on, queer," hissed Gordon, elbowing Dean painfully in the back as he stripped off his sweaty uniform. "Your slutty boyfriend might get his rocks off watching you change, but the rest of us aren't gonna suck you off just because you whip your cock out."

Zachariah, one of the team's two beaters, chimed in, "Nah, I hear the prissy nun won't even put out. Tough luck—I mean, what's the point of being a fag if you don't get any?"

"Don't take it out on us, though," Gordon added. "We're never going to be _that _desperate."

"Yeah, I mean, you know you've sunk pretty low when the only person who'll go near your dick is _Castiel_. Is it true his marks are so high because he blows all his profs? That's sick even for _you,_ Winchester."

Dean could feel a vein pulsing in his temple. His jaw was clenching so tightly it hurt, but at least the pain gave him something to concentrate on other than their stupid jibes. He stonily pretended not to have heard a word either had said, tossing the rest of his clothing in a heap on the bench and grabbing a towel to head for the showers.

Gordon, of course, could hardly let this go without comment, and called after him, "Oh, _gross_! You can't seriously expect us to go in there after you've showered, can you? You're going to give us all your weird gay diseases!"

Whether because of what Gordon had said or because the rest of the male team members had spontaneously opted out of taking a shower, no one followed him in. Not, as Gordon accused, that he wanted to check them out while they were naked; the only person he had any interest in seeing with his clothes off had an unfortunate propensity for keeping as many as possible on. But it would have been nice to see that one of his teammates, just _one_, didn't care what the rest of them said about him.

On the bright side, it gave him a few minutes of uninterrupted privacy. Even if they were talking about him out in the change rooms, the hiss of the water was loud enough for him to pretend they'd all left; he took as long as he reasonably could, hoping that somehow this would turn out to be true. It was late, after all, and there was homework to be completed and classes to be attended the next day. Surely they had better things to do than torment him.

No such luck, as it turned out; not only Gordon and Zachariah but the entire rest of the male half of the team was still there, most still legitimately changing (when had they all become so _slow?_) though a fully dressed Gordon was sprawled without even trying to pretend on one of the benches. Conveniently, as it happened, the one on which Dean had left his clothes.

"Excuse me," Dean growled, trying to reach past him.

Gordon ignored him and asked, "What took you so long, Winchester?" When Dean maintained a stony silence he turned to Zachariah to say in disgust, "God, I bet he was jerking off. He can't even change in the same room as us without getting turned on."

It was at this point that, apparently having finally had enough of listening to this, Garth chose to speak up. At fourth year he was currently the youngest member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and as a decent though not outstanding chaser who was friends with Jo he tended to get left alone for the most part. As far as Dean could remember the two had never spoken, apart from the exchange of a few necessary words during practice or the games themselves.

"Would you cut it out, Gordon?" he asked irritably, not sounding at all intimidated by the fact that he was a rather scrawny fourteen-year-old going up against a huge, popular guy who was already legally an adult in the wizarding world. "Everyone knows you're just jealous of Cas."

Dead silence fell in the room. Most of the boys just looked shocked that someone had actually dared to say such a thing; Gordon's expression, Dean noted with satisfaction, also bordered on horrified outrage. And then someone started to laugh, until everyone else joined in—laughing at Gordon for once, instead of the uncomfortable titters usually aimed at him after one of them had been having a go. Dean grinned, shouldering the speechless Gordon out of the way to grab his clothes without any further restriction.

He caught up with Garth, walking ahead of him with Jo and recounting with a great deal of energy the story of how instead of transfiguring his raven into a water-goblet he'd accidentally enlarged it to four times the bird's regular size in class that day, on the way back to the castle. "Hey," he said, slightly out of breath from having sprinted to catch them. "Sorry to interrupt…I just wanted to, uh, say thanks. For…you know."

To his surprise Garth patted him on the back, nodding sagely. "No problem, man. He had it coming."

"Right. Yeah. Well, thanks," he repeated. Jo was watching them curiously, but as of yet had managed to maintain a polite silence. "I guess I'll see you guys later, then." As he made his way back to the castle, he found that the sour taste usually left in his mouth after practice had been replaced by…well, if not outright cheerfulness than at least something rather more lighthearted. It seemed a bit silly, when he stopped to think about it, that a few words from a relative stranger could have that effect; but there it was.

As it turned out, Garth's comeback on Dean's behalf had a much more widespread effect than any of he, Dean, or Gordon could have predicted. For his part Dean had assumed that, while an encouraging gesture on Garth's part and one that had undoubtedly improved his day, that was it: Gordon had been humiliated in front of the team for a few moments, but soon enough he'd be casting spells to trip Cas up and shoving Dean off his broom while Jo's back was turned as if it had never happened.

Tuesday's Transfiguration class changed that.

It had not been a particularly remarkable day, overall. Dean had scraped a pass on his Veritaserum in potions that morning, of which he was incredibly proud considering the difficulty level of the potion and the fact that the class was still his worst despite Cas's patient help; he'd eaten lunch with Cas, as usual, as well as Anna, who by now seemed to have developed an almost-trust for him (at least enough that when he tried to distract the serious Cas from his studying by tickling him relentlessly she laughed rather than trying to beat him up); and though the brucha he'd been working with in Care of Magical Creatures had impaled his hand several times with its spikes that was hardly out of the ordinary either for Care of Magical Creatures, and indeed almost constituted a good class for him since it hadn't involved a trip to the hospital wing.

Transfiguration, his last class of the day, had passed rather uneventfully as well, at least until the end. He sat with Ash, as had become the norm for him in any classes he didn't share with Cas, and the lesson had left him only vaguely bemused (he'd get Cas to explain it later). Just before class ended and after Crowley had assigned them a report on some law or other to be completed by the following week he strolled down the rows returning the essay on inanimate-to-animate transformations they'd written a few weeks earlier, occasionally muttering a few semi-reluctant words of praise to those students who had done an inarguably phenomenal job, while the lowest demographic received witheringly disparaging looks for their mediocre efforts.

Ever since Christmas, Dean had been almost unreasonably pleased to be able to find himself consistently in the middle section of the class, those who were granted neither praise nor disapproval but simply a quiet pass. While nowhere near the stage of his younger brother or his boyfriend, both of whom some teachers had given up entirely on commending as it grew tiresomely repetitive, the fact remained that it was a definite step up for him. This time, however, Crowley paused for a moment at Dean's desk rather than handing his assignment wordlessly back and moving on as per usual, and Dean felt his heart sink. He'd lost count of the hours he put into slaving over that assignment in the library, or late at night in the Gryffindor common room; the end product had seemed quite decent to him, really, and even Cas had agreed when he'd read it over, but clearly—

"Very well done, Mr. Winchester," Crowley drawled. "I have to admit I'm impressed. Congratulations."

It was over in a matter of seconds, and then Crowley was moving on to give Ash a curt nod of approval at his own paper before setting off down the next row. Dean stared at his retreating back in shock, wondering if he'd heard right. Had Crowley—_Crowley_— really just…?

"Nice, man," said Ash. He gave the still-dazed Dean a lazy high-five by way of celebration: it _had_ actually happened, then.

Dean could feel an idiotic grin spreading across his face, and made no effort to stop it. He couldn't _wait _to tell Sam, and Cas was going to be thrilled—

A crumpled-up ball of paper hit his shoulder, and Dean turned around to see Gordon sneering at him. "Nice one, Winchester," he said, quietly enough not to be picked up by Crowley but with volume enough for it to be heard by everyone in the vicinity. "Were you sucking Novak's cock the whole time he wrote it for you?"

Before he had a chance to respond Pam, a rather tough-looking girl who played beater opposite Zachariah and who was sat next to Jo a few seats over, spoke up, saying, "Hey Gordon, is it true Dean has to kick you out his bed every night because you won't leave him alone? Not trying to judge or anything, but that's kind of creepy. Just saying."

Even Bela laughed at that. Crowley shot a glare over in the group's direction, quickly silencing the giggles as well as discouraging any further conversation, and a moment later the bell sounded to dismiss the students from class; but in the last glimpse Dean caught of him before getting caught up in the rush of people crowding around the door, Gordon looked absolutely murderous.


	16. Chapter 16

The end of April arrived, and with it the final Quidditch game of the year. A friendly sense of rivalry had sprung up between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the two teams that would be taking part with the winner receiving the Quidditch Cup for the year; due to the large number of seventh-years on both teams the excitement was heightened even further, as for those students it would be their last chance at victory.

Cas feigned a certain amount of interest in the sport for Dean's sake but in reality didn't particularly care, which in this case turned out to be rather good as it meant there was hardly any competition stress added to their relationship; Anna, on the other hand, held the position of seeker as well as captain for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and was equally as passionate about the sport as was Dean.

"Would you two shut up already?" asked Cas in exasperation the day before the match, glancing up from his book to interrupt what had turned into quite a heated argument. "We'll find out who wins tomorrow. What's the use fighting over it before then?"

Anna stared at her twin in astonishment, clearly unable to comprehend his total lack of interest. "Don't you even _care_, Castiel? Your sister is going up against your boyfriend. Family versus love. It's like…" She struggled to come up with an adequate analogy to communicate the full gravity of the situation to him. "It's like _Rome and Juliet_!"

"No, it's not," said Cas. "Romeo and Juliet decided to get married after they'd known each other three days, and then everyone died because they were too stupid to take the time to plan it out properly."

"Yeah, plus he'd obviously choose me," Dean chimed in, grinning. "Let's face it, I'm way better looking." He had to duck to miss the swat Anna sent his way—she hit _hard._ Frankly, though of course he'd never admit it to her, she still kind of scared at him; at least tomorrow she'd be going up against Bela rather than him.

"Mmm." Cas shifted his position on the bench they'd taken out in the courtyard to enjoy the nice spring weather, resting his head in Dean's lap and closing his eyes as Dean's fingers automatically started twining through his dark hair. "Definitely. Plus Anna doesn't read, so I can't talk books with her."

"You guys are disgusting," Anna muttered.

The morning of the match Dean ate breakfast with the rest of his team, though he made sure to sit near the Jo-Pam-Garth half rather than the rest. He wasn't _nervous,_ exactly; he'd done it dozens of times before back in Kansas, and even here it wasn't new to him. Excited, perhaps, in a tense, jittery sort of way. The rest of the team was the same save for Bela, who might have been feeling it but was far too cool to let anything show, and Garth, who seemed to be entirely legitimate in his Ash-like relaxation about the upcoming match.

Over at the Ravenclaw table the atmosphere crackled with the same tension as the Gryffindor table; but Cas, easily visible once one spotted Anna's fiery red head beside him, smiled and gave a little wave, while a few seats down Sam caught Dean's eye and mouthed "good luck!". Dean wondered if it were normal to like one's opponents more than one liked their own actual team. Probably not. Then again, nothing about his life had been really _normal_ for quite some time; which, he decided, was far more interesting anyways.

In the change rooms even Gordon left Dean alone, like the rest of the team far too busy processing Jo's last minute tips and instructions to put any energy into bullying him. They could hear the crowd outside, filing into the stadium with the enthusiastic chatter of an audience from whom nothing more is expected than wild cheering. Cas would be out there somewhere, as would Sam—maybe he'd be with Jess. And Lisa, and Ash, and Sam's friend Andy, and all his teachers, even Crowley—_everyone_.

The whistle was blowing now, and they were marching out behind Jo onto the pitch…Jo and Anna shook hands before returning to their respective sides, they were mounting their brooms…his muscles tensed as he prepared to kick off…and _there._ The whistle blew again. The game had begun.

As soon as he was in the air everything else seemed to disappear, replaced by the pure concentration the fast-paced game required. The quaffle was in the air until Jo caught it deftly under her arm, weaving in and out amongst the Ravenclaw players down the pitch—she was going to score—but no, a well-aimed bludger from one of the other team's beaters forced her to drop the ball as she dodged, and now Ravenclaw had possession.

He leaned forward to get into a better position, the way they'd practiced in training; and here came his chance, going into a steep dive to intercept a pass between two Ravenclaw chasers before shooting off down the field towards their hoops. He _might_ be able to score from here—but Garth was set up better, so he hurled the heavy wooden ball into the younger boy's arms and punched the air when the move succeeded in securing the first goal of the match.

On it went, all of them ducking and dodging and purposely getting in the way when it meant they could steal the ball. Another few points for Gryffindor, but Ravenclaw was good and caught up quickly until they were neck-and-neck. Anna and Bela both hovered slightly outside of the main area of play as they searched for the snitch: Dean spent a moment or so looking for it too, out of sheer curiosity as to where it had managed to go, before the game dragged him back in and he had no time to worry about anything other than where the quaffle was going to end up next.

All in all it was going well, from his perspective—and then Gordon, playing keeper, decided to change the rules.

He had the quaffle after making an admittedly rather spectacular save. Dean was offside with a clear run to the Ravenclaw hoops; if he made this goal they'd be tied. "Gordon!" he shouted. "Hey! I'm open!" He waved his arms frantically to get the keeper's attention.

But Gordon ignored him, acting as if he hadn't noticed Dean at all. "_Gordon!_" he yelled, even louder yet still with no result.

On the other side of the pitch Jo was frowning at the scene, clearly displeased with their apparent hesitation. Not wanting a lecture from her later when none of it was his fault to begin with he screamed, "_Gordon, pass the frigging ball!"_

Which he did—to Garth, who hadn't been expecting it and wasn't set up for the catch. He fumbled the ball—and now Ravenclaw had possession again, and what the _hell_ had Gordon been _thinking_—

There was a sickening crunch, and Dean felt his nose explode in pain as a bludger he'd been too distracted to notice struck him square in the face. His hands flew off the handle of his broomstick to clutch at his nose, nearly throwing him off; in an odd, ungainly sort of spiral he flew down until he toppled off on the grass, unable to see from the flecks of blood flying up into his face. As he lay, dazed, on his back he heard with a sense of relief the whistle blow for a time out. He contemplated attempting to get up, but his nose was throbbing and he found himself suddenly incapable of moving even though the blood already beginning to drip down the back of his throat was sending waves of nausea washing over him. This was all fucking _Gordon's _fault—if they lost—

He could hear Jo shouting at the guy in question furiously, off somewhere to his right; then a pair of strong arms were helping him upright and Pam was asking in concern, "You alright?"

"Doh." It hurt, and he winced. "I dink id broke by dose."

"Oh, I can fix that…" Before he'd had a chance to protest that it was okay, he'd just go up to the infirmary, she dug her wand out of her robes to mutter, "_Episkey_."

He felt an extremely unpleasant grating sensation as things inside him knitted themselves back into their proper places; but when it stopped the pain was gone, and a quick examination of his face with an already blood-covered hand revealed nothing obviously out of place. "Thanks," he said.

"Fucking idiot," she said, shooting a glare in Gordon's direction. "Why didn't he just pass you the damn ball?" Dean shrugged. Though he had his suspicions, he didn't really feel the need to share. "Whatever. We can still do this. You good to go?"

Dean nodded, eyes still watering from the unpleasant sensation, and accepted the cloth someone else handed him to wipe most of the blood off his face. Then they were off again, back in the air, and the game's pace was as breakneck as ever as if the disruption had never occurred; Dean made up for his injury by scoring anyways after only five minutes, and as the ball shot through the hoops after the Ravenclaw keeper's unsuccessful lunge to catch it he gave Gordon a triumphant look from across the pitch. Messing around with him during practice and classes was one thing, but during an actual game when the whole team—the whole _House_—would suffer for it? That was just taking things too far.

Another goal for Gryffindor, two more for Ravenclaw—they were tied once again—and then suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anna go into a dive. She'd seen it, _she'd seen the snitch_, and he knew it wasn't just a feint because now that he knew where to look he could see the glitter of gold too; Bela followed suit, less than a breath away from Castiel's sister. Dean was gripping his broom so hard he could almost feel the bones of his hand creak. They were both good fliers, he knew that much—but Anna _did_ have the head start—she was reaching her hand out, Ravenclaw was going to _win_—

But then she was swerving out of the way as a well-aimed bludger from Pam threatened to knock her off her broomstick. Dean whistled, impressed at the fact she'd managed to stay on at all and grudgingly admiring the way she'd practically swung around on her broom; and in the split second it took her to reorient herself Bela's fist had closed around the struggling gold ball. The stadium erupted in noise, the cheers of the Gryffindor supporters far obscuring the groans of the Ravenclaws. Gryffindor had won.

Back on the pitch Dean was part of the huge, crazy heap that the team had turned into, hugging and slapping each other on the back and shouting until their throats were hoarse. He saw Jo pull herself together for long enough to shake hands politely with Anna, who looked disgruntled but acknowledged Gryffindor's victory gracefully. Other people were streaming onto the pitch now, too; Pam's younger Slytherin brother, Jo's non-Quidditch-playing friends, Lisa to congratulate Garth (_really?_), Sam and Jess (so they _had_ come together, then), who both hugged him. And, of course, Cas—throwing his arms around Dean's neck to kiss him enthusiastically, even though he usually had a tendency to be a little shy about showing too much affection in public.

Both knew they only had a moment together before other people pushed their way in to congratulate Dean, and besides Cas ought to go talk to his sister; but before they were tugged apart by the crowd Dean put his mouth by Cas's ear, partly to ensure Cas heard him and partly so that no one else did as well, and asked, "Can we go someplace after?" What he actually _meant_, of course, though it wasn't generally the sort of thing one said aloud, was _we just won the Quidditch cup and I'm happy and I want to make out with you._ Which luckily Cas seemed to understand, because he smiled and nodded before the press of people pushed them apart.

Dean found himself being hugged by people to whom he'd never spoken before, people who weren't even in his House but had been hoping for a Gryffindor victory anyway or maybe had just caught the excitement of the crowd, as was happening to the rest of his teammates. He caught Garth's eye, grinning in response to the thumbs-up the boy flashed him as Lisa kissed his cheek; and there was Jo, laughing as she tried to make Pam and Zachariah put her down from where they'd hoisted her onto their shoulders; Gordon looked a little less happy than everyone else, sulking off at the edges of the crowd, but Dean found himself going so far as to hug a smiling Bela at one point. Maybe she wasn't so bad, really—after all they were both teenagers, and he knew he'd certainly made his fair share of mistakes; and though Gordon was still set on his mission to make Dean's life miserable she at least seemed to have lain off a little. Maybe it was time to move on.


	17. Chapter 17

"So where exactly are we going?"

Cas had been mysteriously vague when Dean had finally managed to sneak away from the crowd to meet him, saying only that Dean would see in a minute as he took his hand to lead him off. So far, to his confusion, they'd simply gone back into the castle and climbed several sets of stairs to a hallway he'd been through dozens of times before.

"You're not very patient, you know. Just hang on a minute. We're almost there."

For a reason unknown to him and one that only succeeded in bewildering him further, "there" appeared to be a space on the wall in front of a rather ugly tapestry depicting a troupe of trolls wearing tutus. Dean stared at it in horrified fascination, too busy wondering if someone had _actually_ been crazy enough to try to teach trolls ballet at some point in history to ask why exactly Cas had felt the need to bring him here.

"Uh…" he said, when he managed to tear his eyes away from the tapestry and was greeted instead by the sight of Cas walking up and down in front of the wall with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "What are you doing?"

Instead of answering Cas opted to complete one more set of steps. His eyes opened to watch in satisfaction as a door materialized out of the stone in front of them, and without waiting a moment longer he tugged Dean towards it. "The Room of Requirement," he explained as he pulled the door open. "Anna found it back in third year—don't ask how, you don't want to know—but I only just remembered about it the other day."

"Wow. Uh. Sweet." He was going to ask how it worked, and what precisely was the point since it just looked to him like a somewhat nicer version of one of the House common rooms—

—but then Cas's mouth was on his, kissing him with the same urgency he'd tasted on the Quidditch pitch not so long ago but this time without the inhibiting factor of being surrounded by so many people. His hands found the boy's waist to pull their bodies closer together; with their chests pressed tight against each other he thought he could feel Cas's heart losing its steady rhythm as his pulse sped up, and maybe he was just imagining it, maybe it was his own heart going crazy because it still took nothing more than a fucking _smile_ from Cas to get it pounding faster, and this was definitely more than a smile—and either way it didn't matter because where the _hell_ had Cas learned to do that thing with his tongue, anyways?

His boyfriend's hands pushed firmly at his chest, and for a moment he thought Cas was trying to shove him off like the last time, despite the fact that he hadn't even started trying to get up his shirt yet. But when he tried to pull back to ask what was the matter Cas caught his bottom lip gently between his teeth, indicating that _no_, this was _not_ what he wanted; then Dean's already-weak knees hit the back of the couch towards which Cas had been trying to guide him, where he collapsed gratefully to tug Cas down on top of him.

"You're very eager today," he said with a grin as they broke apart to allow Dean to help Cas take his sweater off, before both sets of hands began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

"You've been at practice all the time," Cas complained, nuzzling Dean's neck. The places where his lips pressed against skin seemed to burn long after Cas had moved on. "I _missed_ you."

Their mouths met in another hungry kiss, chests heaving against each other; Dean's hands slid their way up the heat of Cas's sides underneath his shirt to grip his shoulders, to find that sensitive spot on his back that made him arch his spine when Dean rubbed it. This time, as an added bonus, it had him shifting his hips forward ever so slightly so that they pressed down more forcefully against Dean's crotch, and even though it probably wasn't intentional on Cas's part it felt so fucking _good_ he couldn't resist spreading his legs a little wider to get the full effect. _Fuck_, that was…

He touched the spot once more, harder, and had to choke back a moan as Cas's hips moved again. It was torturous, getting just that tiniest bit of friction from him while knowing they probably wouldn't go any further; he was itching to touch himself in an attempt to relieve the ache between his legs but had to keep his hands firmly above waist level for fear of freaking Cas out. Cas, for his part, seemed to be too preoccupied with tugging at the bottom of Dean's shirt in an effort to get it off to have noticed anything of his boyfriend's discomfort—and then his hands were on Dean's bare skin, rubbing at his nipples and kneading his pecs and this was not helping matters at _all_, _fuck—_

With a jolt of surprise that only served to soak the front of his underwear with a drop of pre-come, he realized that for the first time he could feel Cas's hard-on pressing against him. Not that he thought Cas had never gotten a boner before while they were making out, but if he had—and judging by the number of times it had happened to _him_, the chances of this _not_ being the case seemed quite low—he'd always made sure to hide it from Dean. He didn't know if Cas had been embarrassed or nervous or trying to be polite in some weird way or _what_, and right now he didn't really care because the most important thing had suddenly become that he _wasn't_ trying to cover it up anymore, was even—_shit_. A groan escaped his swollen lips as Cas rolled his hips against Dean's, and he was unable to resist letting his hand fall from Cas's back to grip his ass, thrusting up in an attempt to feel the delicious friction again, and then _again_.

Cas let out a surprised, "_ohh!"_ and with an effort of immense willpower Dean slammed himself back down on the couch. _Stupid._ He _knew_ how it had turned out last time he'd tried something like this.

"Sorry, sorry! But I can't—_fuck_, Cas—" What he'd meant to say—that they needed to stop _right now_, because if he didn't cool down soon he was fairly certain he'd spontaneously combust—died into an unintelligible sound of pleasure as Cas answered his attempt to pull back by grinding down insistently into his lap.

"That feels so… oh my god," Cas gasped, letting his head fall back. Dean took the opportunity to kiss his way up the boy's exposed neck to up under his jaw. "Don't stop…please, I want—I want you to—"

Dean's heart seemed to thud to a halt for a moment. Then, with an initial surge that sent a rush of blood to his already throbbing cock, it practically doubled its pace, so that all he could hear was its pounding in his ears along with the mixture of their panting breaths. "Are you sure?" he asked, lips still pressed against the boy's skin.

The vibration his words send buzzing along his neck caused Cas to shudder visibly, shoulders rolling back. "_Yes."_

"We don't have to, if you're not ready…" But _Jesus Christ_ he wanted to—because if someone didn't touch him _soon_ he was going to explode and the thought of Cas's hand around his cock, Cas's fingers on his balls the way he couldn't pretend he hadn't imagined dozens of times before was just about the hottest thing he could think of. The sexual frustration with which he'd been living up until now would be _nothing _compared to having this dangled so tantalizingly close in front of him before Cas changed his mind and it was taken away again.

"_Dean_—I want this. I want _you._ _Please_…" And then Dean found himself unable to protest any further, even if he'd wanted to, because Castiel was rutting against him harder, more urgently, maybe to prove to Dean he was telling the truth or maybe just because it felt so fucking amazing, to Dean anyways, and if the noises Cas was making were anything to go by—_fuck_, did he sound _hot_.

By now it was physically painful, still having his pants done up. He fumbled with the button, not seeming to be able to undo it quickly enough, then yanked Cas's pants open as well and pushed them halfway down the boy's ass. As he started on Cas's underwear, gently easing it over his swollen cock, he felt Cas's finger dig into the skin on his arms hard enough to leave rows of white crescent-shaped marks. The looseness of his body from a moment earlier, when Cas had just seemed to be acting on the instinct of what felt good, had vanished to be replaced by a rigid tension with which Dean was all too familiar, and his heart plummeted.

"Are you sure about this?" _Please say yes please say yes please say yes_, they were so close—

"I just—um—I don't really know—" He was blushing, the same way he'd blushed at their first few tutoring sessions on the rare occasions he was forced to make non-Transfiguration-related conversation. Compared with where they were now, with what they were doing now, the thought almost made Dean laugh aloud. "I don't know what to do," Cas muttered finally, deliberately avoiding Dean's gaze.

And that, too, was just so fucking _Castiel_; awkward, inexperienced Castiel, acting as if sex were just like arithmancy, something you could learn from a book, only no one had ever given him the book so he didn't think he could write the test. "You don't have to do anything, Cas," he said, stroking his boyfriend's lower back soothingly. "Not this time. You'll pick it up as we go, I promise."

Even as Cas nodded his hand was sliding lower, over the sharp protrusions of the boy's hips, down the trail marked at the base of his abdomen by short, dark hairs; and then his fingers were wrapping around the base of Castiel's cock, flushed and hot and hard, gently twisting and rubbing, slowly building up a rhythm as he slid his hand up and down its length. Cas's eyes widened, and whether intentionally or not he spread his legs even further apart to allow Dean better access—of which Dean of course took full advantage, on the next stroke sliding back to massage his balls until he could feel fingernails digging into his arms again, this time from pleasure rather than anxiety.

Then he had moved back up to the head, spreading his thumb through the pre-come now leaking freely from the tip, and the filthy fucking _moan_ Cas let out at this was enough to force him to remove the hand bracing itself against Cas's back to palm himself through his underwear. Not that it mattered much, because by now Cas was rolling forward into the hand on his cock so desperately that he hardly needed the support, breath coming in shallow gasps and looking so fucking wrecked it was a wonder he'd lasted this long.

_God_, this was too much—Cas looking like that, sounding like that, Dean's one hand wrapped Cas's cock while the other tried to relieve his own throbbing boner—he'd wanted it to last, for them to take it slow, but there was no way in _hell_ that was going to work now. The heat that had been building steadily in the pit of his stomach was burning furiously, curling around his balls even as he tried to hold himself back.

Cas whined in protest the instant Dean took his hand away, and Dean could practically _feel_ how close the boy was. It wasn't meant as a tease, though the way Cas was almost begging to be touched again seemed to indicate he was taking it that way; "Hang on," he managed to gasp out. "Just hang on—" Wriggling unceremoniously out of his own underwear he rubbed himself up against Cas, and _holy shit_ that felt better than anything he'd ever been able to imagine—

All it took was a few quick pulls from the hand he'd used to press their cocks together and Cas was coming, coating Dean's hand, his cock, his stomach with sticky whiteness as he panted Dean's name; and even if Dean hadn't been right on the edge already his voice was so low, so fucked out that he was spilling onto his own hand a second later, hit by wave after wave of almost unbearable pleasure. It was messy and sticky and sweaty and probably not very elegant at all, but it was the hottest thing he'd ever seen or felt or _anything_, and _so fucking worth_ the wait.

Cas slid off his lap to curl next to him on the couch, tracing a pattern absently on Dean's bare chest as he said breathlessly, "That was…wow."

"Right?" He pulled Cas in for a lazy kiss; and after another few moments had passed snuck a sidelong glance at the boy before adding, "How long d'you think we've got until someone starts wondering where we are?"

"It'll be dinner in a bit…maybe half an hour?" Cas guessed. "Why, do you want to…?"

"Do you?"

"Maybe…" A brief hesitation, and then he amended this to, "Um. Okay, definitely."


	18. Chapter 18

That was Saturday. By the following Friday, Cas refused to even look at him.

_It was just a joke_, Gordon had said when Dean stormed up to his group too furious to think straight. _We were just messing around._

That was almost the worst part: they weren't gloating, they weren't victorious, they just acted like that was all it had been to them—a dumb prank. No need for him to be so uptight about it. Chill out, Winchester. It's not that big a deal. But he could _see_ it, in Gordon's eyes, that gleam of triumph saying _it was more than a joke and we both know it, and I won._

He wanted to scream at him, to hit him, to tear him apart, even though none of that would hurt Gordon the way Gordon had hurt him. The way Gordon had hurt Cas. Instead he had to leave, because his eyes were burning and his throat was tightening and there was _no fucking way_ he was going to let Gordon see him cry.

He hated this stupid school. He hated this stupid _country_. He wanted to go back home, back to his _real_ home where he had friends and girlfriends and Bobby and Dad's old car to work on and the tree in their backyard that he'd fallen out of when he was seven and broken his arm. He wished they'd never left.


	19. Chapter 19

Two days earlier everything was fine. They were sitting out on the lawn by the lake—him, Cas, Sam, Jess, Anna, and a bunch of other people related to the group by various links, some of whom he knew and some of whom he didn't but who all seemed very friendly—studying, supposedly, since exams were fast approaching. Even the most studious members of the group (specifically, Cas and Sam), however, had more or less abandoned anything above a vague pretense of academic work; the sun was too bright, and the air too warm, and atmosphere simply too lighthearted, for anyone to actually be able to get any work done rather than talking and laughing along with everyone else.

Cas had been resting back on his elbows, talking to Sam intently about some book or other they'd both read, while Dean raced paper airplanes with Anna's Slytherin friend Ruby (with some very interesting results, as neither could be bothered to enchant the things properly), when suddenly Anna reached over to grab her twin's collar. Cas jumped in surprise. Then he seemed to realize what she was doing and tried to tug his shirt out of her grasp, already attempting to re-fasten the buttons he'd undone in lieu of the day's warmness; but it was too late. "Cas, is that a _hickey_?" she exclaimed loudly.

"No!" Cas protested, his face going furiously red as he struggled to hide the bruise-like mark Dean's teeth had left on his collarbone during their activities the evening before. "I—um—it's just, um—"

"You filthy fucking liar, it _so _is!" Anna slapped Dean's arm. "Dean, you kinky son-of-a-bitch—"

Despite the fact that he could feel his own face beginning to burn, Dean couldn't help grinning as he held up his hands in defense and said, "Hey, _he's_ the one who _likes _it."

"Oh my god, I don't want to hear this!" said Sam in horror, clapping his hands over his ears.

But aside from Sam, who looked utterly revolted, and Cas, who appeared to be willing a fissure to open in the ground and close around him, everyone else seemed to find the whole thing hilarious; much to Cas's dismay, the couple became the object of relentless teasing until Ruby checked her watch and asked, "Is anyone else getting hungry?"

"Oi, stop trying to seduce me," said Anna. "God, yes. I'm starving."

It was on the way into the castle the make-up potions assignment he'd persuaded his teacher to allow him to do, completed but still sitting on his bedside table up in his dormitory. "Shit—I've got to go hand something in. I'll catch up with you guys later."

Everyone looked at Cas.

"Shut up!" he said, blush returning in full force. "I'm staying right here, okay?"

"No one's going to judge you, Cas," said Anna. Dean was amazed at her ability to maintain a straight face. "If you guys are feeling the urge—"

"_We're not!_"

Grinning, Dean gave a wave to the group in general and left Cas to defend himself as he jogged up the staircase towards the Gryffindor tower.

The common room was deserted when he entered, everyone being either already down at lunch or outside enjoying the weather. Climbing the stairs to his dormitory, however, he nearly collided with Gordon going the other way; though things between them had cooled off slightly following the game, as people began to express similar sentiments to those of Garth and Pam (particularly seeing as he'd nearly jeopardized the game just to spite Dean), he was rather startled to receive an almost courteous, "Sorry."

"Oh, hang on—" He halted warily as Gordon spoke again from behind him, expecting at least a mild put-down of some description; but all Gordon said was, "This fell out of your bag this morning. No big deal, but…if you want it… I mean, we all know how much you love them."

Dean caught the chocolate frog—for which it was true he'd developed something of an affinity—Gordon tossed him in surprise. Not that he was surprised to have dropped it, because while he didn't remember putting any in his bag recently they seemed to have developed a mysterious tendency to appear in unexpected places on a regular basis. No, it was more that Gordon, who had gone out of his way to make Dean and Cas's lives as miserable as possible, seemed to have transitioned over the course of two days from outright enmity not even to a simple disregard, with which Dean would have been plenty happy, but all the way to cordiality. "Uh. Thanks," he said.

He ate it reflectively as he climbed the rest of the way to the dormitory (Anna and Ruby hadn't been the only ones hungry—his stomach had been growling fiercely all the way up to the castle, much to Cas's amusement). Well, it wasn't impossible, was it? Bela had for the most part lain off the bullying, even going so far as to flash him a friendly smile every time she passed him in the hall; and she had been just as dead set against Cas in the beginning as Gordon. Maybe, laughable as the idea seemed, he'd started to grow up. Or grow out of it, at least. Dean could help thinking resentfully that it had taken him long enough, especially where Cas was concerned; still, better late than never, and provided exams went well (a shoe in for Cas, though a little more doubtful in Dean's case) it would mean they'd get to end school on a positive note, and where the _hell_ had that stupid paper gone? Though he was certain he'd left it on his dressing table, the damned thing was nowhere to be seen. He'd even checked behind and on the ground just in case it had fallen, with no success. But it had been late when he'd finished it; maybe he'd accidentally left it tucked in one of the books he'd been using? Or he could have forgotten it on the table in the common room—he'd have to go back down and check—

_Bela._

The need hit him so hard his breath escaped in a heavy _whoosh_ as if someone had punched him in the ribs, and he only just managed to make it over to the bed before his legs gave out. _Where was she_? He could picture her in his mind's eye like she were standing in front of him in the room—that long hair he'd used to twine his fingers in, because she liked it when he pulled; those lips, full and pink and perfect and his own mouth was tingling at the memory, and that wasn't the only place she'd used it, _fuck_; the curve of her breasts beneath her sheet with that little peak of cleavage she always showed off, the way they'd felt cupped in his hands—

He had to find her. _Right fucking now._ He couldn't _believe_ he'd been stupid enough to let her go, and for _Cas_ of all people; sure, he was nice and all, but when it came down to Cas or beautiful, brilliant, intoxicating Bela—well, there was no contest.

Dean sprang up off the bed, suddenly full of a wild, desperate energy, and charged back down the stairs. The common room was deserted once more, but he raced through the portrait hole in the hopes that he might be in time to catch—and yes, there he was—"_Gordon!_" he shouted, tripping on a step in his hurry and only barely managing to save himself from wiping out altogether by grabbing the banister. "_Hey, Gordon!_ Wait up!"

To his relief Gordon paused where he was midway down the staircase until Dean had managed to catch up. "You feeling okay?" Gordon asked, frowning. "You look kind of flushed."

"Fine, fine"—or hopefully he would be soon, anyways—"but I need—it's really—have you seen Bela?"

On some vague, unimportant level he registered the sparkle of glee that passed fleetingly across Gordon's face as he spoke; but as soon as it had appeared it was gone again, and Dean's body was going too crazy just then for him to notice much else. Heart pounding, head spinning, feeling as if he could run a marathon and at the same time like he was about to collapse on the cold stone floor, and that one word repeating itself over and over as a mantra in his mind: Bela, Bela, Bela, _Bela._

"Yeah, sure," Gordon said with a shrug. "She's in the library—or she was ten minutes ago—"

Dean took off running again, not knowing and not caring if he'd been about to say anything else. He _needed_ her, more than he needed to eat or sleep or even _breathe_; needed her under him, on top of him, _whatever_ just so long as he could touch her; and since when had the library been so damn far away, why couldn't he run any _faster_—

She was seated across from a younger Hufflepuff girl with whom she didn't appear to share anything other than the table, head resting on one hand as she flipped idly through one of a stack of books surrounding her. At the sound of her name she jolted upright—as, to be fair, did everyone else in the library; he'd shouted rather louder than he'd intended to—but there was no time to be embarrassed, because those perfect eyebrows were arching as he approached and _shit_, she was even more stunning than he'd remembered.

"What on earth's the matter with _you_?" she asked, apparently sufficiently astonished to forgo the usual sarcastic comment.

He lowered his voice so that it came out as a husky whisper. "Bela"—even the shape, the _taste_ of her name was exquisite—"can we go someplace?"

Her eyes scanned him appraisingly and he waited, breathless, for a response; if she said _no_, he didn't think he could—

"Alright, then." Without even bothering to shut the book she'd been reading Bela rose from her seat to lead the way out of the library, Dean following close behind. Cas would have taken his hand, he thought vaguely; but Bela was above that, clearly. Far too mature for such childishness.

"Not that I'm complaining about this whole thing, Winchester—but I feel like your boyfriend might."

Dean shrugged. What did he care what Castiel thought? If he had Bela, he didn't need anyone else. "That's his problem."

"Well, your call, I suppose," she said, not looking particularly fazed.

And almost before he'd had a chance to catch up with what was happening they had slipped into an empty classroom, and he was slamming her up against the wall in a rough kiss, hot and messy; she gasped in surprise as he moved immediately onto her shirt, buttons clattering to the floor in his careless haste to get to her skin—he was glad he already knew how she liked this to go, hard and fast and rough, because he didn't think he could have slowed it down any, nor did he want to.

One hand shoved her bra up—it would take far too long to undo it properly—to squeeze her breast; what the fuck had ever made him decide to give this up in the first place, all these soft curves where Cas had just been sharp and boney? And oh, _yes_, that wasn't even the best part…

With his free hand he reached up under her skirt, feeling the shiver of pleasure that ran through her as his fingers brushed the skin of her inner thigh; her underwear was easily yanked down to fall around her ankles. _Fuck_, she was already wet, just _waiting_ for him—she whimpered, eyes hooded with lust, as he stroked around her entrance; and then he was thrusting two fingers in, twisting and rubbing and stretching inside her. Bela's back arched uncontrollably against the wall, knees sliding down a half-inch or so and only succeeding in pushing his hand deeper.

He'd forgotten how _loud_ she was. Cas was loud too, but in a different way; as if he didn't notice. As if he couldn't help it. He'd been mortified when Dean teased him about it. Bela was loud because she knew he liked it, because she wanted to see how far she could push him. That had always been the way things worked between them, each silently daring the other to go one step farther in a sort of contest. It was better that way, really—though at the moment he couldn't recall exactly why. But it didn't matter because he was grinding against her hip now, the low groans he couldn't hold back mingling with her breathy cries, and his fingers were driving harder into her until she was practically writhing around them, and—

Someone opened the door. It was, as luck would have it, Castiel.

If Dean had bothered to spare more than the briefest of glances to him before pressing his mouth back against Bela's bare chest he might have registered the expressions that flashed across his boyfriend's face: embarrassment, at first, at having walked in on a couple who were clearly otherwise occupied, followed quickly by shock when who saw who it was; and then…

Then something that was impossible to describe. A little like the way he looked when Gordon or someone had been picking relentlessly on him and everything just seemed horrible, only a hundred times worse because this was _Dean_—Dean who he'd trusted, Dean who he'd let in, Dean who he'd relied on. Dean who he'd loved. And now, without any warning, Dean didn't want him any more. He'd gone back to Bela—pretty, popular, quick-tongued, _female_ Bela—leaving months of being together, of everything they'd gone through, everything they'd done for each other, what they'd managed to build up together, to crash down around and on top of Cas.

And Dean didn't care.

"Sorry," Cas choked out, voice cracking slightly, before running out of the room.

Well, thank goodness for that. Bad enough he'd had to interrupt in the first place, without dragging it out. Dean had far more important things—like, for instance, the goddess currently fucking down into his hand—to do.


	20. Chapter 20

Dean woke up, and immediately wished he hadn't.

He'd once downed an entire bottle of firewhisky with one of his friends back in Kansas. It was the first time he'd really been drunk; the morning after, he'd felt so disgusting he'd vowed never to drink again (not a vow he'd managed to keep, of course, but he'd made sure never to get _that_ drunk again, reasoning that if it didn't kill him outright the aftereffects would make him want to kill himself).

This was worse.

_Everything_ hurt. His head most of all, with a dull, throbbing ache that made his stomach squirm nauseatingly. His skin felt too tight and too hot, the light from the window across from his bed made his eyes water painfully; he could barely remember his own name, much less think straight…

What the hell had happened? All he could remember was…was…his potions essay? Did he need to hand it in, or had he given it to Bela to hand in for him? But that didn't make sense; Bela, while perhaps not the last person on his list of people he'd willingly entrust with his homework, was certainly down there. Well. He remembered _something_ about Bela, anyways.

Judging by the light in the room as well as the fact that it was completely empty it had to be around lunchtime, which meant he seemed to have slept through an entire day including his morning classes. Not good, considering exams were just around the corner. He pushed back the covers, trying to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking, and swung his feet out of bed, figuring he could at least go and apologize to his teachers. Maybe catch up on what he'd missed. Though the fact that he had to wait nearly a minute for his head to stop spinning before he even attempted standing up was not very promising.

When he finally managed to haul himself to his feet it was only by and effort of sheer willpower that he was able to stagger to the bathroom before throwing up. His stomach was relatively empty, since the last time he'd really eaten anything had been the previous morning, but that only meant he kept dry-heaving until he collapsed on the floor, exhausted.

The details began to come back to him in a slow trickle as he lay there, face pressed against the cold stone; they'd been out by the lake, they'd gone in for lunch…something about an assignment, definitely…he'd met Gordon in the library, and—no, that wasn't right, he'd met Gordon in the common room, it was _Bela_ he'd gone to find in the library, because—

No.

_No._

Obviously he'd been delirious. He was imagining things, getting his life at the beginning of the year mixed up with what was going on several months later. There was no way—_no fucking way_—he could have done any of what he was remembering.

But…he could remember the feeling, like Bela was all that mattered in the entire world and he'd _die_ if she didn't want him. He could remember his hands on her, _inside_ her, and how at the time he could have wished for nothing more in life, though now he wanted to scrub his skin raw to remove the last trace of her as if by doing so he could erase the event itself. He could remember Cas's face.

_Cas_. Dean jerked upright, and the room seemed to spin slightly around him. It had been over twenty-four hours since Cas walked in on them—twenty-four hours of him thinking Dean had betrayed him for Bela, one of the very people who'd made his life at Hogwarts so miserable. He had to go find him and tell him—

—what, exactly? Dean _had_ betrayed him. He'd deliberately sought out Bela and fucked her, hard and rough, until they were both too tired to move (because they hadn't stopped at what Cas had seen, oh no; they'd done it over and over and over, and try as he might Dean couldn't stop the images that insisted on coming back to him). And why? _Why?_ For absolutely no other fucking reason than that he'd _wanted _to

He didn't know what had suddenly made him fall out of love with Cas and in wild, crazy lust with Bela, only that it had happened. It wasn't revenge, nor was it an accident; it was just that yesterday he had inexplicably wanted (_needed_, his brain supplied, but he pushed the thought savagely away) to have sex with Bela, so he'd done it. And that wasn't even the worst part (not the worst part for him, anyways)—the worst part was that he could remember the way he'd felt about Cas at the time, what he'd thought, and it hurt so much he was finding it hard to breath because he just _hadn't cared_. Hadn't cared that it would mean the end of his relationship with Castiel, hadn't cared that it would mean half the friends he'd managed to make at Hogwarts would now hate him. Hadn't cared about what it would do to Cas.

And even if he somehow managed to apologize, to make Cas believe he was really, truly sorry and he hadn't meant to do it (but he _had_ meant to do it, whatever he might have wanted to think now) and he loved Cas, honestly he did—even if those words hadn't sounded insincere even in his own head, who was to say that next week or next month or next year he wouldn't do it again? Because _something _had happened to him, something he hadn't been able to predict and something he couldn't understand now, and maybe it would happen again. Maybe for longer than a few hours next time. Maybe permanently.

Or maybe he'd never really loved Cas to begin with. Not properly, the way he deserved. Bela wasn't particularly nice, or even that interesting—more or less the same as all the girls of a certain type he'd known back home—but there was no denying she was attractive. If that were all it took for him, a pretty face and a nice set of curves and a mind with no room for anything except sex, then what the fuck did he think gave him the right to be with someone like Cas?

So that was it, then. He wouldn't try to apologize. Wouldn't even give himself a chance to by talking to Cas at all. And if his chest still ached from feeling too much, all the better—he deserved it.

Dean let himself slide back onto the floor and closed his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

He'd gone back to bed after that, feeling miserable and empty and still disgustingly ill from whatever weird bug he'd managed to catch, and didn't get up again until breakfast the next morning.

"You look like shit," said Jo flatly when he eventually dragged himself downstairs to the Great Hall and sat down in her general vicinity. "I mean, I was going to ask why you weren't in class yesterday, but I feel like a better question might be why aren't you in the hospital wing?"

""m fine," he croaked. The most important thing right now, he thought, was to try and recall how to use a knife and fork. And how to eat. Eating sounded good.

Jo passed him a plate of scrambled eggs wordlessly. The smell hit him just as he was scooping some onto his plate and he nearly gagged; maybe eating wasn't such a good idea, after all. He set the platter down reluctantly—whatever his stomach was telling him, his brain kept reminding him that his last meal had been two days earlier.

The Great Hall was nearly empty, most people having already finished their breakfast before Dean arrived. Knowing it wouldn't help matters any but unable to resist, he found himself scanning the Ravenclaw table for a certain black-haired, blue-eyed boy. There was, however, no sign of Cas, or even of Anna, who was quite hard to miss—and thank goodness for that, because Dean didn't even want to _think_ about what she might do to him. Sam, too, was absent. Not that it meant anything, of course. They were probably all back in their dormitories gathering their books for class, or in the common room doing a few last-minute touch-ups on homework. The usual morning activities. Still, he couldn't help asking…

"Have you seen…" he began, and then stopped. A look had passed across her face, quickly erased but lasting long enough for him to realize: she knew. How much he wasn't sure, nor whether or not any of what she had been told was the truth; but she knew. Chances were _everyone_ knew, by now, at least anyone who was in any way even remotely connected to any of the parties involved, which in total encompassed most of their year as well as an assortment of other students.

"Sorry?" she said politely. "I didn't quite catch…" He saw her gaze shift from him to just over his shoulder as she trailed off, and turned to see what had caught her attention.

Sam. Of course it was Sam. Face carefully blank, arms crossed over his chest, and Dean knew him well enough to recognize that he was furious, just trying to hide it because they were in public. Wordlessly he rose from his seat—"You really ought to have _something_ to eat," said Jo, sounding worried, so he grabbed a piece of toast to bring with—and followed his brother out of the Great Hall.

The early hour meant it was cool outside, despite the warm summer temperatures that would follow later in the day. Sam halted in front of a bench—specifically, the bench where Castiel had been sitting back in the winter when Dean asked him out. He didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to think about Cas at all, because every time he did the fist that seemed to have closed around his heart, or his lungs, or _something_ inside him anyways, tightened painfully. But not thinking about Cas wasn't really an option at the moment: what else could Sam be here to talk about?

It would have been easier to pretend it were someplace else, to not remember Cas sitting beside him with his copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_, if Dean's legs hadn't gone all shaky from the walk and forced him to sit down. Sam remained standing, and the look he was giving him—Dean lowered his gaze to the ground rather than meet his brother's eyes.

"I don't know, okay?" he said.

"What do you mean, _you don't know?_" Sam snapped. "What the hell were you _thinking_, Dean?"

"I mean _I don't know._" What exactly did Sam want him to say? _Sorry?_ He certainly couldn't explain things, not when he didn't even understand what had happened himself. "It just…it seemed like the right thing to do, at the time."

The defense sounded weak even to him, and he didn't blame Sam for hissing, "_Excuse me? _In what _possible _situation could doing what you did to Cas _ever_ be the _right thing to do?_"

Dean bit his lip to fight back the burning he could feel at the back of his throat. "I don't know," he mumbled again.

He ducked his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, but it did nothing to prevent the first tear sliding down his cheek, with an almost comic slowness, to leave a tiny wet circle where it fell on the leg of his pants; and that was it. He hadn't cried the day before, when he finally woke up and managed to piece together what had happened. Maybe because he'd been too lightheaded to think straight, maybe because it hadn't sunk in. Maybe because he hadn't really believed it at all, couldn't comprehend the idea that he would do such a thing despite the strong argument to the contrary provided by his too-vivid memory, until he was back amongst other people and his brother was shouting at him. But whatever the reason he was crying now, hard and unrefined and past the point of caring who saw him because everyone whose opinion mattered hated him now anyways, and _God_ what he wouldn't give to have Cas back.

Sam stayed, though. Whether he understood that something wasn't quite right with Dean at the moment and hadn't been since the other morning out on the lawn, or if it was just enough to see how upset his older brother was, Sam took a seat beside him, and sat quietly until Dean's shoulders had stopped shaking.

"Maybe you could talk to him," Sam suggested eventually, breaking the silence that had fallen. "I don't know what happened either, but you obviously weren't…well, _you._"

Dean shook his head vehemently. "I can't."

"Why not? I bet he'd forgive you. He _really_ lo—"

"No."

"But—"

"Drop it, Sam, okay? I just can't."

If the teachers hadn't been pushing them all so hard, frantically attempting to impress upon their students that the exams that could potentially alter the courses of their lives were mere weeks away, Dean didn't know how he would have made it through a full school day without breaking down again. After his initial day back, where most of his energy had been put into simultaneously attempting to keep down the little breakfast he'd eaten while also remaining conscious, and a weekend to more or less recover from his mysterious illness, he returned to his lessons on Monday with a sense of dread: it would be the first time he'd seen Bela, and Anna, and of course Cas, since the day he and Bela had…he didn't even want to think about it.

The classes he had with the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins weren't so bad. There were whispers behind his back and smirks from Gordon and his crew (Bela had opted to leave him alone after he made it patently clear he wanted nothing to do with her, shrugging off his disinterest easily), and at one point as he struggled with his Draught of Living Death he glanced up to catch Ruby watching him with an unreadable expression on her face from across the dungeon; but other than that it was easy to keep his head down, just as he'd done so many times before, and concentrate on his work.

No, it was (unsurprisingly) the classes with the Ravenclaws where Dean ran into problems. There were only two, and of the two Anna was only in one, as she'd chosen to continue with different courses after her fifth year than her twin brother. Cas, however, was in both—and Gordon, perhaps out of genuine stupidity but more likely reverting to his old cruel streak, if indeed he'd ever really left it behind to begin with, came right out and _winked_ at him as Dean walked past the desks where he and Cas had used to sit. He'd deliberately kept his gaze lowered to avoid meeting Cas's eyes, but at that some clearly masochistic part of him couldn't help sneaking a quick glance.

Cas had a black eye. It was a few days old and had faded to a dull yellow by now, as had the bruise marks around his neck. Not a surprise, exactly; since his two main occupations had suddenly become studying and hanging out with his brother, the weekend had provided Sam with ample opportunity to catch Dean up on exactly what had happened that day. But it still hurt as if the injuries were his own, because even though maybe he wouldn't have been able to stop them happening altogether he ought to at least have been there with Cas, instead off in some classroom getting head from a girl he couldn't stand.

They didn't talk, didn't even exchange glances. From an outsider's perspective the pair had for all appearances gone back to the way things had been at the start of the year, with neither acknowledging or even aware of the other's presence (or perhaps it hadn't been _quite_ like that, Dean thought glumly as recalled Cas's prolonged crush). But Dean was so aware of the fact that Cas was in the room ignoring him—was he angry? Disappointed? All broken up inside and getting stabbed by the pieces, the way Dean felt?—that he could hardly concentrate for more than a few seconds at a time, much to his teachers' dismay.

And when he wasn't in class or with Sam he was in the library. Risky, since the library was basically Cas's version of what the Quidditch pitch used to be to Dean; he'd made sure, however, to claim a table in the far corner as his own, and sat hour and after hour surrounded by books with his back to the rest of the library. It rather surprised him, to be honest, how much effort he was now putting into his studies. He supposed struggling through page after page of complex theorems for Transfiguration or tricky recipes for Potions helped to take his mind off…_other things_, but he'd never have thought he could become such a dedicated student without Cas urging him on. Passing—no, doing well on—his exams had mysteriously become Dean's top priority. Funny how that worked. Or maybe not, really.


	22. Chapter 22

Sam, as in every other circumstance a vast wealth of information, had after some cajoling been persuaded to go over what had happened while Dean was _busy._ "Are you sure?" he kept asking anxiously, clearly certain it would only make things worse for Dean; and to be honest Dean agreed, but he had to know.

What had happened was this: after Dean had left to supposedly hand in his homework (and that was what he'd originally intended to do, he was sure of it) the rest of them had all gone into the Great Hall to get lunch. He'd been gone maybe fifteen minutes, hardly long enough for anyone to start thinking something was off considering he had to go all the way up to the Gryffindor tower before making his way down to the dungeons, when Gordon had showed up.

"Ran into your boyfriend, Cas," he'd said, smirking. "I see he's picked up some new _extracurricular activities."_

"What are you talking about, Gordon?" Cas had asked. He hadn't sounded intimidated, Sam said, the way he would have earlier in the year; just annoyed. Dean couldn't help feeling a surge of pride.

"I think you ought to ask Bela about that," was all he'd said in response before walking off, laughing, with his friends.

They'd all rolled their eyes and gone back to the food in front of them, but Cas had seemed genuinely worried; not that there was truth in what Gordon seemed to be implying but that something might be wrong. He'd seen enough of Dean's "accidental" injuries—not to mention having had his fair share as well—to dismiss it as easily as the others.

So Ruby said she'd seen Bela in the library earlier that morning, and when Cas got to the library and she wasn't there he asked Pam, who eventually told him reluctantly that she'd seen them leaving together.

And then—

("I know that part," Dean cut in quickly. The image of Cas's face right before he turned and ran seemed to be permanently burned into his brain; he didn't need Sam to drag him back once again to the moment itself. "I just want to know what happened after.")

—well, after that he'd run right into Gordon again, only this time Cas was alone and he was crying and Gordon still had his friends with him, and even though Dean was mostly over whatever had kept him in bed for two days he felt like he were about to be sick all over again when Sam told him the things they'd said to him, communicated via Anna only after she'd eventually managed to wring it out of her twin. That his precious boyfriend had been whoring around behind his back the whole time—and who could blame him, because no one in their right mind would give up women for _Castiel_, of all people. That Dean had only been keeping him around in the first place so that he didn't fail all his classes. That Cas was worthless and stupid and naïve and no one in the whole fucking school had ever liked him to begin with so why hadn't he taken the hint already and just thrown himself off the astronomy tower?

They'd hit him, too, shoved him around enough to leave bruises, and even though that was nothing new to Cas it was the first time in a long time that he didn't have Dean to crawl back to, and after everything else that had happened it was just one thing too many. He'd shoved Gordon back, lashing out and slamming him into the wall, and shouted, "_Why do you hate me so much?"_

It had earned him a pair of hands around his neck that left his voice raspy for days after. "Because," Gordon hissed, "you're _you_."

Seeing the look on Dean's face when he finished talking Sam hurriedly made an excuse and left him on his own. He punched the stone wall so hard it tore the skin right off his knuckles; but the white hot anger coursing through him was exhausting to maintain constantly (though if he could have done it for anyone, Gordon was the one), and by the end of the week he was forced to conclude that he'd cried more in the past few days than he had in the entirety of his life.


	23. Chapter 23

But it was his fault. That was what stopped him from talking to Cas. While Gordon might have made things considerably worse, in the end it all came back to him, and Cas deserved better than that. Better than him. He'd meet someone else, maybe (probably) not at Hogwarts, maybe not for a while, but eventually he'd meet someone who wasn't like Dean, someone who wouldn't hurt him the way Dean had, and he'd be happy and it would make Dean happy too.

That was what he kept telling himself, anyways.

Until…

Dean was in the library, where he'd been seated at his usual desk for nearly four hours attempting to cram information into his already overstuffed brain. Transfiguration had been going surprisingly well thus far, thanks to countless hours of tutoring (don't think about that, don't think about that), and he'd managed to maintain a moderately firm grasp on most of the rest of his courses over the past several months; it was Potions where the real problems lay. All those ingredients with their complicated names, their unsystematic properties, their various combinations—and the potions themselves, many reminding him unpleasantly of the complex equations and formulae in the advanced Arithmancy textbook Sam had. There were so many tiny, seemingly arbitrary differences between _this_ plant and _that_ one, with leaves just a little bit altered, and even if you picked the right one you had to cut it with the flat edge of a silver knife and stir it in counterclockwise or the potion fell apart entirely.

At the moment he was reading over a page detailing the effects, side-effects, and making of Amortentia, which for a change was not phenomenally difficult. The actual brewing of the potion itself was, of course, though less so than some of those which they had covered in class; but at least everyone knew what it did without having to look it up. He allowed himself a quick break as a reward for already knowing something, stretching his arms above his head and leaning back in his chair to ease the stiffness that had seized up his muscles from sitting in the same position for so long.

Something fell out of his pocket. He bent to pick it up: a chocolate frog card. The rather geeky hobby of collecting the things had, unsurprisingly, caught on more with Sam than his older brother, and Dean tended to simply hand the things off to Sam so as to be rid of them. This one was Samuel Colt (an American, Dean was pleased to note), and he was pretty sure Sam already had at least three of him; still, Dean didn't particularly want it, and—

Hang on—when was the last time he'd eaten one of those things to begin with? It must have been weeks ago. He supposed he'd simply forgotten to take it out of his pocket after eating several by the lake with Cas (don't think about that) right after they'd handed in that Herbology paper—or no, there's been one after that. In his dormitory the day… _things _had happened, while he was looking for his potions essay. The one Gordon had—

And then things began to slide into place, things that had been driving him crazy with hating himself and wondering what was wrong with him, things that had been keeping him away from Cas even though he wanted more than anything to go over and talk to him and apologize and have even just the slightest hint that maybe eventually everything would be okay again. Amortentia. Amortentia caused powerful infatuation. Powerful enough to make someone desperately in love with a person forget completely about them for a day or a few hours and have them instead slamming a girl they couldn't stand up against the wall to kiss her.

Another idea struck him and he scanned the list of ingredients anxiously. When he was younger his mother had bought a pomegranate for her sons to try, splitting it open and setting a pile of seeds in front of each boy. After an initial moment of skepticism both had declared an immediate love for the fruit and immediately inhaled the remainder of their portion—an action Dean soon regretted with fervor, as it had landed him in nauseous and dizzy in bed for several days with an odd sort of allergic reaction.

And yes, there it was on the list, right underneath fennel. Pomegranate seeds. Someone had slipped him a love potion to make him fall briefly, madly in love with Bela; someone who'd managed to get him to eat something in such a way that he'd never expect it.

Several people in the vicinity turned around in alarm at the noise Dean made, and continued to watch in surprise as he grabbed the book he'd been reading and sprinted out of the library.

He found Sam out in the courtyard, sitting very close to Jess. Any other time he would have recognized the signs of what was happening and backed off, but at the moment he was too wound up to notice anything other than the book clutched to his chest (though the librarian hadn't been too happy about that, he'd already been running so fast by then she didn't even bother trying to catch him) and the card of Samuel Colt digging sharply into his hand. "Sam! _Sam!_" he shouted, ignoring the fact that he almost twisted his ankle on an uneven flagstone to charge frantically onwards.

Sam sprang apart from Jess guiltily. The glare he shot Dean was not particularly encouraging. "What?" he asked in annoyance.

"_Look!"_ Dean shoved the book in front of him, slamming the Samuel Colt card down on top of the open page. He watched Sam stare blankly at it for a moment before growing impatient and prompting, "_Well?_ Do you see?"

"Ye-es," Sam said slowly. "It's a book and a chocolate frog card."

"Exact—what? No! I mean yes, but can you—it's—I kept thinking it was me, but what if—"

"Dean, what the hell are you—_"_ Sam's eyes finally alighted on the title of the page, and understanding flashed across his face. "Oh. _Oh._ You think—?"

"Yeah, I do! I mean why else would I…I don't even _like_ her, usually, right?"

"Right—"

"And I remember it was just all at once, one second I was trying to find that stupid potions assignment and the next…"

"But who would have…?"

Dean's hands clenched into fists reflexively. He'd thought about that, of course; that was where Samuel Colt unknowingly came into play. But up until Sam's question he'd been too worked up about finally working things out to consider what it actually _meant_. "Who do you think?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Sam frowned. "Are you sure? I know you guys don't really get along"—_understatement_—"but even for Gordon that's a little…well, a little extreme, isn't it?"

No. It wasn't. He thought about what Gordon had done to Cas that same day, and all those times before over his seven years at Hogwarts; and all the things he'd done to Dean, even though they were in the same House (the same _dormitory)_ and played Quidditch together and used to be friends. Whatever was wrong with Gordon (and there was definitely _something_ wrong, because normal people just didn't do things like that), a little thing like tearing up a relationship was clearly nothing to him. Besides—"I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast that day," Dean reminded his brother. "And then he gave me this—said I'd dropped it or something."

"And you _ate_ it?" Sam exclaimed in exasperation.

"Well, yeah…I don't know, I guess I thought he was getting over it. He'd kind of being leaving us alone." Alright, maybe it had been a little stupid—but definitely not stupid enough to warrant losing Cas. _That_ was totally, entirely, one-hundred-percent Gordon's fault, and now that the reality of what had happened had begun to sink in properly his pulse had picked up to a thunderous pace and his nails were digging into his palms, and he was certain he'd never hated anyone as much as he hated Gordon right now.

Jess, who was clearly uncomfortable sitting in on the conversation, muttered to Sam, "I should go…"

"No!" Sam said quickly, and Dean managed to momentarily calm down enough to realize for the first time what he seemed to have walked in on. Oops.

"Oh, sorry," he said, rather belatedly. "I'll, uh…" He gestured vaguely over his shoulder at the castle behind him. "…yeah. See you guys later." And before Dean turned to leave, he flashed Sam a wink that made both his brother and Jess go pink.

So, what to do now? _Talk to Cas._ Well, he supposed he ought to return the library book, for starters. Aside from the fact that he'd basically accidentally stolen it, he'd left all his stuff in the library. _Or he could talk to Cas._ And Gordon—he didn't even know what he wanted to do to Gordon, except that he wanted it to hurt, _a lot_, and it would probably end up in one or both of them getting detention. Not exactly the best idea, then, considering how close exams were; he needed that time to study (_with Cas?)_. Perhaps he ought to try to put off that confrontation a little while longer, if he could. _He could go talk to Cas instead, then._

He decided to go talk to Cas.

The boy was, predictably, in the library, shoulders hunched in and head bent over some book or other he probably knew everything about already, anyways. His hair was messy—he must have been running his fingers through it the way he always did without noticing. The only thing wrong with the picture was the ghost of a bruise around one of his eyes—that, and the fact that he'd chosen a desk as far away as possible from the one Dean usually occupied.

As Dean gathered his books together, mostly just shoving everything haphazardly in his bag without really paying attention, he found himself unaccountably nervous. This was _Cas_, for God's sake, and maybe it wouldn't be the easiest conversation they'd ever had but after all every couple had some issues to work through once in a while; so why were his hands shaking so much that he dropped his Charms textbook three times before managing to get it into his bag?

Taking deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm himself down, Dean made his way purposefully across the library—and stopped, only a few feet away from where Cas had his back to him.

He couldn't.

The thought brought all the misery of the past few weeks that had briefly been lifted crashing heavily back down on him. He didn't hate himself for what he'd done anymore (or not as much, anyways). That wasn't his fault. But he felt a disgusting, crawling sense of shame at his cowardice—because what if Cas didn't believe him? It sounded stupid, really, him coming to apologize weeks after the fact and claiming to have only just discovered something that should probably have been obvious from the start. Or what if Cas just didn't want him back? What if he'd gotten over him already? After all, none of the girls he'd gone out with had ever seemed to have much of a problem with that. He didn't know which would be worse. If Cas thought he was lying that would only deepen the betrayal, mess him up even more; and if he'd simply realized he was better off without Dean, he'd just feel a sense of pity for his ex-boyfriend's pathetic languishing.

He tried to force himself to move, to take another small step towards Castiel and just fucking _say_ what had to be said, but panic glued him to the spot.

_Later_, he told himself. _Don't want to interrupt his studying._ _I'll do it later._ Maybe. It made him cringe inside, coming up with that stupid excuse because he was too fucking scared to take the risk; it served its purpose, though, allowing him to turn and run from the library for the second time in less than an hour. And it was definitely running _from_, this time, instead of _to_. Shit. It was a wonder Cas had ever agreed to go out with him in the first place, much less sticking it out this long.

All things considered, with anger and self-hatred and despair tangling in one great big mess in him, it was not exactly the ideal time to run into Gordon.

His fellow Gryffindor had barely managed to get out the words, "Watch it, Winchester," when Dean was slamming him up against the wall, forearm pressing down forcefully against Gordon's windpipe. "You fucking son of a bitch," he snarled, far too incensed to pay any heed to the choking sounds Gordon was making as he gasped desperately for air. "You had no fucking right to do that. You had no right to do _any_ of this, any of the shit you put him through"—he would have noticed, if he'd been in a state to notice anything, that the fact Gordon didn't need to ask who _he_ was only served to prove the truth of what he was saying—"but _especially_ not that!"

"Relax, Winchester," Gordon rasped, rubbing his sore throat as two of his friends tugged the struggling Dean off him. "Honestly. We were just messing around. Learn to take a joke."

And it was at this point that Dean needed to leave, because Gordon's friends were agreeing, telling him to chill out, and Gordon was giving him that look, _that fucking triumphant look_, and Dean didn't know whether he was going to hit someone or start crying again or whip out his wand and hex everything he could reach, but he needed to get out of there _now._


	24. Chapter 24

"Have you talked to him yet?"

"Um. Not—uh, not exactly, no." Dean forced himself to tear his eyes away from the Ravenclaw table (did Cas look sad? He kind of did, didn't he? Was he still missing Dean the way Dean was missing him, or was it just because he had a copy of _The Virgin Suicides_ propped open in front of his plate_?_).

"_Dean—"_

"Look, he's busy enough stressing about exams without me messing him up even more. I'll just…wait…a little while."

"You're scared, aren't you?"

"I am _not!_"

"No, you totally are." Sam rolled his eyes. "God, you two are hopeless. Okay, let me put it another way: _please_ go talk to Cas, because you're driving us all crazy. He's just as bad as you are, moping around our common room whenever he doesn't have his nose in a book. Anna says he won't even let her _talk_ about you, though, so I guess—"

"You still talk to Anna?" Dean interrupted, trying and failing to sound casual. "Has she, uh…does she ever…"

"She still wants to kill you, yeah. But I think she's willing to suspend that sentence if you get your act together." For a moment Sam hesitated, and then with a more serious tone he said quietly, "She said it was awful, right after. He wouldn't talk at all for ages—she said it was nearly the scariest thing she'd ever seen, because at least when he shows up hurt or crying or whatever she can kind of comfort him, but he was just sort of…empty."

Dean said nothing. The problem was he could picture that all too well, and it was doing nothing to lessen the guilt he'd already managed to accumulate.

"Just go over and talk to him, idiot," said Sam. When Dean continued to stare resolutely down at his plate Sam readjusted the weight of his bag on his shoulder and shook his head in irritation before simply turning to leave.

His brother was right, of course. He did need to talk to Cas. It was this not knowing that was so exhausting, taking up all his time trying to analyze every single thing Cas did (from a distance, of course); at least when he finally worked up the guts to do something about it he'd know for sure, one way or another. And maybe he'd been trying to tell himself he was doing this for Cas, so that he didn't distract him from his studying; but what about _him?_ Ever since he'd clued in about the Amortentia he seemed to have been unable to concentrate on anything for more than two minutes, finding himself either fuming over Gordon (he'd lost count of the number of creative, impractical means he'd devised to exact his revenge) or, more often, angsting over Castiel. Was he thinking about him? Was he angry? Was he moving on?

He had to do it. Soon. _Today_. Just…not right now. He didn't want to interrupt his reading, after all.


	25. Chapter 25

Dean had lost count of how many times he'd done this, gritting his teeth and making his way towards Cas's desk in the library before losing his nerve and veering off course to pretend he needed a book from one of the shelves in the area. Considering it was the Divination section and he'd never taken a Divination course in his life the act was rather unconvincing; not, and he was unsure whether this was good or bad, that Cas ever seemed to notice. Other people in the area sometimes gave him odd looks as he swung around suddenly to grab a book on augury off the shelf at random; but Cas remained turned away from him, frowning resolutely down at whatever book he was currently reading.

Not this time. No way. This time he was just going to walk over—_all_ the way over—and _sit down_ and fucking _apologize._ Explain. Both. Whatever. He was going to sort this out, anyways. His first exam (Charms, the written portion in the morning and the practical component in the afternoon) was the next day, and if he didn't sort this out _soon_ he wouldn't be able to summon sufficient concentration to do so much as levitate a feather, as the first-years was probably be doing.

He'd made it all the way to the Astronomy section, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt and heart racing as if he'd just run a marathon, when he realized Cas wasn't at his usual desk. Someone's books were there, maybe Cas's and maybe not, but the seat was vacant. _Shit._ This _would_ be the day Cas decided to do his studying in the Ravenclaw common room. Well, clearly he couldn't do anything if Cas wasn't even there. Out of his control, really; he supposed he'd just have to—

—oh, no, he was standing over by the Arithmancy books. That was…great. Really great. _Really._

So before Dean could think better of it he walked quickly over to stand only a few feet away from the other boy, who was checking something intently in a book he'd pulled off the shelf, and took a deep breath. "Can we talk?" he asked.

Cas's eyes flicked momentarily up from the page; Dean's heart sank as his gaze returned to the complicated equations again almost immediately. "If you want to borrow my notes, you can forget it," Cas said coldly.

"I don't want to—I mean, not that mine are…I'm sure yours are better, but that's…um—" Oh, fantastic. He was turning into Sam. Okay, another deep breath. He could do this. "That's not what I came to ask, Cas. Listen, I…I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now"—or maybe ever—"but just…hear me out, okay?"

Cas raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Two minutes," Dean said desperately. "Please?"

He decided to take Cas's stony silence as assent.

Somehow he managed to cram all the important details into the allotted time, stumbling over his words and repeating himself and going back to fill in things he'd forgotten to mention. "And I know you're probably still mad and all, but I just—I just want you to know that it wasn't…you know. _Me._ I mean it _was_, but…I didn't want to," he finished, eyeing Cas anxiously for any sign of a reaction. "I was still—I _am_ still…I don't want anyone else."

There was no immediate response. Dean fidgeted nervously, wishing Cas would do something, _anything_, other than giving him that unreadable stare; if he was still angry, _fine_, but if he at least believed what Dean was telling him—

And then suddenly the air was being forced rapidly out of Dean's lungs as the corner of the book Cas had been reading jabbed him sharply right under the ribcage. "And you waited until _now_ to tell me this?" Cas hissed.

Eyes watering Dean gasped, "Well, I only just worked it out a few days ago!"

"I didn't mean that! You haven't said a _single fucking word _to me in _weeks!_" This was loud enough to draw curious glances from those nearest, though neither boy seemed in much of a state to notice.

"Uh…what exactly did you want me to _say_, Cas? _Sorry for fucking the girl who's been picking on you since you were eleven, it seemed like a good idea at the time?" _Exactly what he wanted Cas to _forget_, of course, but he was already so lost he felt there was really nothing else he could do. _That_ was what Cas ought to be upset about, wasn't it? Certainly it was the reason Dean had done what Cas was complaining about in the first place.

"Damnit, Dean! I didn't care about that!" Cas snapped. Whatever Dean had been about to say died somewhere along the way from his brain to his mouth, which was now hanging open slightly in shock—because there was _no way_ Cas had just said what Dean thought he'd heard him say. "At first I did, sure, but we've… we were…I _know_ you, or I thought I did. And it just didn't seem right, any of it—the way you looked at me when I walked in, or…and why would you do it then, when you knew one of us was bound to come looking for you sooner or later? It didn't make sense, okay?"

Dean was still staring at him blankly, unable to comprehend what he seemed to be telling him. He'd spent the greater part of the past few weeks tearing himself apart for something he was certain he'd done of his own accord, and here was Cas apparently saying he'd seen through the whole thing right away. "But…" he began weakly. "Gordon—"

"Gordon? Forget Gordon! He's been beating the shit out of me since I started here! Yeah, it sucked coming right after…_that_, but what difference does one more time make? If anything it _helped_—pretty suspicious, him just _happening_ to be hanging around." Cas was right, of course. As usual. And maybe he hadn't been there at the time, but Sam had told him everything less than two days later; maybe he ought to have clued in that _something_ seemed a little off, rather than putting all his energy into generating outrageous quantities of self-loathing. "I mean I kind of _figured_ it wasn't you doing it on your own, after I'd had a chance to…but then you didn't come find me, you didn't try to apologize, you wouldn't even _look_ at me in class, and I thought—I thought—" Cas took a moment to breathe, trying to steady a voice that had begun to shake. "I started thinking maybe I was wrong," he said, a little quieter. "Maybe Gordon was right about you, maybe you were just messing around with me and you didn't care that I'd found out—or you were trying to get rid of me, you just wanted me to take the damn hint—"

"_What?_ That's—"

"Well what was I _supposed_ to think? You were just pretending like we didn't even know each other!"

"_I didn't know what to say!"_ Dean exclaimed, loud enough that the librarian glared up at them from her desk and put a finger to her lips in a disapproving _shush._ "Sorry," he muttered over his shoulder, before going on a forcedly lower volume, "I wanted to talk to you more than anything, but I just—hell, I had no clue what had happened. I thought there was something wrong with me, that made me do it, and even if I managed to apologize properly what if it happened again, you know? What if you had to go through that again because I was too messed up to…and I didn't want…you deserved someone better—"

The sound of the book Cas had been holding slamming into the bookshelf beside them, hard (and it wasn't even in the right place, in case he hadn't already known Cas was furious), made Dean jump, as well as several other people in the vicinity. "Screw what I _deserved—_I _wanted_ you! Don't I get any say in this?"

They were so close together now, faces only inches apart; if anyone had asked they probably would have said it was to make sure they were heard, what with the way they had to shout-whisper in an attempt not to disturb their fellow library patrons. Dean could see, in high detail, the bright spots of pink colouring his cheeks in anger, the flecks of grey in the bright blue of his eyes…the glisten on his lower lip, where he'd just moistened it unconsciously with his tongue, and if Dean just leaned in a tiny bit further…

"I'm sorry," he said, tearing himself away. He stared down at the nearest desk, where a fourth-year Slytherin had quickly returned her eyes to the book in front of her to pretend she hadn't been eavesdropping. "I know it probably doesn't mean anything, but I really am. And if you're done, if you've had enough…I mean, if you want to finish"—and what exactly had they been doing for the past several weeks?—"then that's…" What? Fine? It was anything _but_ fine. It was the complete antithesis to _fine._ "That's, uh…well, it's your call."

There. He'd said it. If Cas wanted to stick with him (and really, what were the chances of that, after the way he'd been acting recently?) he could say so now—if not, as was more likely, he'd have an easy way out. Dean would understand. Really. He wouldn't like it, but he'd understand. And he'd pretend to be okay with it, even though it would ten times worse than the first time because now it would be permanent and official, because it wasn't fair to offer Cas the choice and then try to guilt trip him into choosing the option Dean wanted. He twisted his hands together behind his back, still not meeting Cas's eyes though he could feel them on his face—it would only make it worse, when—

Cas made a noise of annoyance. "You are so—"

And then, completely taking Dean by surprise, he was being pressed roughly up against the bookshelf by Cas's hands on the collar of his shirt and kissed, fiercely, desperately, in a _this-hasn't-happened-for-weeks-and-I-thought-it-might-never-happen-again_ way that made him glad the bookshelf was there to hold him up because his knees had suddenly gone all wobbly. Cas's hands were everywhere, tugging his hair and pressing him closer and fisting in the fabric of his shirt; and after the initial shock had worn off Dean was doing the same without thinking, touching everywhere he could reach just because he _could_, he was allowed to do this again, and he'd _missed_ having this boy, this body under his hands. It was the most aggressive he'd ever seen Cas, and even through the joy of _this was really happening, Cas wasn't giving up on him_ he couldn't help thinking how fucking _hot_ it was, seeing him like this, being pushed around like this—he wanted—

"_What do you think you are doing?_"

They broke apart, panting, to see the librarian standing in front of them, looking rather less than pleased at their display. "_Out_!" she shrieked. "_Right now!"_

Cas ducked his head and muttered an apology. He shoved his books into his bag, helped by Dean, who hadn't brought anything of his own in lieu of the intent of his visit. Together they hurried out, their departure accompanied by a not inconsiderable amount of muffled laughter and a few whistles; and before he could say anything Cas had grabbed his arm and was dragging him into the nearest broom cupboard, tapping the door with his wand to lock it.

By now Dean's heart was threatening to burst right out of his chest, it was beating so hard; this was a side of Cas he'd never seen before, possessive and dominating and _fuck_ was he turned on right now. Cas's hands were on his shoulders again, pushing him until he felt his back hit the stone wall behind him, and Cas's mouth was reclaiming his in a heated, messy kiss—or in fact Cas's mouth was all over him, pressing against his neck, his jaw, tongue fitting into the dip in his clavicle, and—he felt his back slid an inch or so down the wall because he'd never realized how _sensitive_ the skin of his inner elbow was, though maybe it was just fiery warmth of Cas's lips that was doing it—oh. _Oh. _Cas had eased his leg between Dean's, upper thigh rubbing against his crotch; Dean had been half-hard already but that was all it took to get him the rest of the way there and he whimpered—_he fucking whimpered_—because _no one _had ever taken control this way before, and he _liked_ it.

His hips had started to buck forward against Cas's solid warmth when he felt the boy's hands grab his waist to pin him against the wall; and then he was sinking down on his knees, and Dean found himself rather lightheaded—was Cas really going to…?

He was undoing Dean's pants, sliding down his underwear; pressing on those sensitive spots just below Dean's hips that had his head snapping back to hit painfully on the stone, and _shit, yes he was_, Dean could feel the heat of Cas's breath on his bare skin, and if he'd been able to mentally take a step back for a moment he probably would have been impressed, since he knew for a fact Cas probably had next to no idea what he was doing.

Or maybe he did—Dean's skull cracked against the wall again (he was going to end up with a brain injury at this rate, just in time for exams) as Cas took the head of his cock into his mouth, tongue licking the liquid from the leaking slit. "_Shit_, Cas…" Dean gasped. One of his hands, previously scrabbling at the smooth stone wall in an attempt to keep himself upright, grabbed at Cas's hair—not to force himself further down the boy's throat (though he wanted to, wanted to lose control and fuck into his mouth until Cas couldn't take him anymore and then let Cas do the same to him until Cas was all he could taste) but simply to hold onto something. To hold on to _him._

Cas took him in a little further, flattening his tongue out along the underside of Dean's cock, and wrapped his hands around the base—his cheeks hollowed out as he sucked him down and being surrounded by those hot, wet lips, those hands stroking him with the same rhythm—it was all he could do not to thrust forward—and he could feel his balls tightening, he was _so close_—

Cas was working him with only one hand now, mouth still firmly locked around his cock; when Dean looked down, vision hazy with pleasure, he could see Cas's pants were open, too, and he had other hand around his own flushed hard-on. Cas hummed, deep and low in the back of his throat, so that the vibrations seemed to shoot through every nerve Dean had in his body, and that was it—he was coming hard and fast and there were spots dancing in front of his eyes but Cas was still going, swallowing it all down, and Dean couldn't tear his dazed eyes away because he was pretty sure that even if Cas had been on the other side of the room he could have gotten off just on watching him touch himself the way he was now.

He slid down the wall, legs no longer able to support his weight, as Cas came with a gasp that had him tingling all over again; and after a moment of silence as both recovered, catching their breath and letting the haze clear from their heads he said weakly, "Holy fucking shit, Cas. Where the _hell_ did you learn to do that?"

Cas stretched his jaw experimentally and winced. "I, um… well, after we, um. After the first time I sort of…might have…asked Ruby about it?"

"You…sorry, _what_? You asked _Ruby_…how to give a good blow job?" Dean bit his tongue in an attempt to keep from laughing. "That must have been a fun conversation."

"It was okay, once she stopped laughing. She was very…knowledgeable."

"Well, remind me to thank her next time I see her. Jesus. Maybe we should fight more often."

"Not," Cas said firmly, "if it means we're going to get kicked out of the library again."


	26. Chapter 26

They hadn't meant to make an entrance, but when the pair walked into the Great Hall at dinner time hand-in-hand, both wearing rather silly grins because they just couldn't help it, Sam and Anna over at the Ravenclaw table let out loud cheers and started to clap. A few of their other friends joined in, enough so that several people turned to stare—Gordon included, and Dean couldn't help noticing with a deep sense of satisfaction his rather aggrieved expression.

"Shut up," Cas hissed at his sister when they halted in front of the Ravenclaw table. "It's not like you didn't think it was going to happen."

"I didn't at first," Anna objected. "And then I still wasn't a hundred percent on it. Anyways, I have a right to celebrate—you are absolutely _miserable_ to be around when you're moping. Or going through withdrawal, or whatever you were doing."

Cas did not deign to respond, grabbing a sandwich from the table without bothering to sit down and making to leave. "Oh, come on, I was just kidding!" she called after them.

"In case you haven't noticed, exams start tomorrow—"

"_Please_—like you two are going to _study._"

"You never know," said Dean cheerfully. "We might need a break." Beside Anna, Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste at the insinuation and eyed his dinner as if no longer quite so hungry.

Cas cut in quickly, "He's joking," and carefully avoided meeting Dean's gaze until they were well out of the Great Hall.

As it turned out, sitting their exams was not half as traumatic an experience as Dean had anticipated. Cas, despite his anxiety (he'd looked about to be sick, walking in for his practical Defense Against the Dark Arts examination), had unsurprisingly aced everything; and even Dean had managed to do well on most of his, with a few turning out rather exceptionally while only one (Potions) left him uncertain as to whether or not he'd managed to pass. He was thrilled: it was much better than he'd expected, and certainly a far cry from what he could even have hoped for at the beginning of the year.

And then the year was over. _School_ was over, for Dean and Cas and Anna and Jo and Gordon and all the other seventh-year students who wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts again. Trunks were being packed, misplaced items tracked down, borrowed possessions returned, and before he knew it Dean was boarding the Hogwarts Express for one final time, and then watching the castle fade into the distance as they pulled out of the station. The sight produced mixed reactions from those who had opted to share his compartment: Ruby looked sad to see the place go, as did Anna; Cas, on the other hand, just smiled, and Dean couldn't say he blamed him. He himself had no particular feelings either way, not having been at the school long enough to form any strong attachment. It was just a place to him, somewhere a bunch of bad things had happened but where a lot of good ones had taken place, too. There'd be others. Sam and Jess, who would be returning for the next four years, were far too busy being endearingly shy around each other to pay much attention.

At the end of the summer, Dean would be going with Cas to the United States. While Dean had been focused solely on passing his exams, Cas had quietly started to look for a potential career; they'd talked about it a bit, of course, and Dean knew Cas wanted to be a Healer, but it had come as a complete (though far from unwelcome) surprise to him when Cas announced he'd been offered a training position over in America. It was in New York, not Kansas, and Dean still hadn't worked out what exactly he'd be doing himself, except that he now knew he wanted to do it in New York. He was going home.

His parents were waiting for him and his brother when they pulled into the station. He greeted them quickly before stepping back to allow Sam to introduce some of his friends (including Jess, who looked far less nervous at the prospect of being introduced to her maybe-kind-of-almost boyfriend's parents than Cas had), and took the opportunity to slip away with Cas. Not to say goodbye in private—they'd already done that back at the school, and anyways Dean had no intention of spending the entire summer apart from Cas—but, for the first time, to meet Castiel's family.

Anna was with them already, a huge crowd of siblings all older than the twins, and now that Dean saw them all together he could easily see the family resemblance. The tall dark-haired man had Cas's cheekbones and blue eyes with a shade more grey; the blond man wore the same wicked grin he'd seen countless times before on Anna's face; and all of the family's members shared the same rolling accent, though it took Dean some time to realize that this was because they were from Ireland rather than that they just spoke even more strangely than the rest of the country, as Dean had originally thought. They were all very loud, too, shouting over top of each other as they scrambled to hug Anna and Cas as well as a very surprised Dean.

"This your boyfriend, Cas?" asked the blond man, grabbing Dean enthusiastically. "Nice. Very firm."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Gabriel, don't scare him off. It'll take Cas _ages_ to get another."

Introductions were made, though there were so many people in Cas's family Dean doubted he'd ever remember all their names. His parents were left until last—a stern-looking man an woman who appeared greatly at odds with their noisy, excitable children, making Dean recall what Cas had said when they first met about his parents not allowing him to read Muggle books. They were courteous enough, however (or at any rate refrained from open hostility), both shaking his hand and saying, "Pleased to meet you."

And then Mary and John were waving him back, telling him _it's time to go_; he could see Jess kissing Sam shyly on the cheek before running off to her own family, and Sam flushing happily in response; and Cas was pulling him to the side for a kiss of his own, at which his siblings whistled and cheered. "You have to come visit," Cas said to him. "Promise."

"Just try to keep me away," Dean told him, grinning. When the Winchesters were halfway to their car he turned back one last time to wave goodbye. Then he looked away again, immersing himself in his mother's ill-disguised casual questions about Sam's "new friend", and it wasn't hard to get in the car with them and drive away from the station, away from Cas.

Because it wasn't goodbye. Not really.


End file.
